


Reduced to a Simple Fairy Tale

by 2014banana



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-05-05 18:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 85,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5385467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2014banana/pseuds/2014banana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time marches on for everyone. But for royalty, it often has the effect of reducing the events of one's life to nothing more than a simple fairy tale (and they don't always have a happily ever after).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Post-Frozen. I adore how complex Elsa can be. And I wish to apologize in advance should this just be a hot mess...and not in a good way. But hey, I'm going to see where this goes and hopefully not embarrass myself or poor Elsa in the process. Because Disney's Frozen ain't mine (just this mess is).

Everyone bows and curtsies, and she wears a crown on her head (so she doesn't).

Then there are two very important people (actually, the most important people) - one who bows and one who curtsies. Who actually don't.

They did in the beginning (bow and curtsy).

But that was a long time ago.

And when the two most important people first met, words were spoken that come to mind now, "If it had been my sister, Elsa, it would be...Yeesh!"

It was.

This time.

Yeesh.

And it was a flagrant disregard of all sense of propriety for a woman of her age and station to have been caught behaving in such a manner.

Absolutely shocking.

At the age of one and thirty, Queen Elsa of Arendelle - The Virgin Snow Queen, sovereign ruler of Arendelle by right of blood and birth order, finds herself on the cusp of a salacious scandal.

It's in a dark corner of a balcony garden, the warm night air thick with the scent of jasmine and sounds of a waltz, that Elsa has fisted bare hands into soft auburn hair as she insistently presses her wet mouth to parted lips, a coaxing tongue tangling deliciously with hers and sending hot white sparks of heated arousal careening through her veins.

Oh…

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

The world and her pride and her reasons for having never done this before fade away, all that's important is the heated flesh that is perfectly pressed to hers, and suddenly that isn't enough. She needs more. And she's far from embarrassed about the guttural moan that spills from the back of her throat as her back hits the stone wall behind her, especially given the fact it coincides with a similar sound from the owner of the gloved hands gripping her hips restlessly (evidentially the feeling is mutual).

How perfectly torrid…

The kiss is broken at the sound of a horrified gasp, Elsa's name twisted angrily in the same breath.

And THIS is far from how she expected things to come to light…

Elsa blinks bright blue eyes wide and in a heartbeat decides she wants this. All of it. Her body aches to breathe his breath, regardless if it is right or wrong.

She is allowed to have things (ten years of denying herself her wants and needs as she sits upon the throne of Arendelle has taught her well).

She is QUEEN after all.

She releases her warm breath to ghost across the shell of a rather pink ear, flush with embarrassment, "It is time for you to ponder all meanings of the phrase, 'silent as the grave'. Should you fail to do so, I shall be forced to decide that I have made an egregious error in judgement, and will make accommodations to correct it."

There is a huff of agreement twisted with a laugh, accompanied by the start of an eloquent apology before she pushes away and raises her chin.

Blue eyes lock as Elsa says calmly, "May I talk with you? Alone? Please?"

There is no wringing of hands or darting of anxious eyes this time (unlike the last time she spoke those words).

"NO. Whatever it is you have to say, you can say it to the both of us."

Elsa sighs, resisting the smirk that pulls at her lips (a result of too much time spent with him), "Fine."

"Don't tell me. It's true love."

Elsa chuckles, almost darkly, "Far from it." Her eyes shift apologetically, more for him than for her, because she's never actually admitted this before and hates that it happened like this. But before her are the two who are the most important, so she must, "But it is love."

"Is that some sort of riddle?"

"Yes."

Anna's jaw unhinged as she huffed, staring at Elsa with disappointed eyes and reflecting something like genuine surprise as they shifted between bright blue and spring green, "Wait. You're in love with him?"

The fingers of a white silk glove gently wrap around Elsa's wrist as her lips parted to reply, reminding her of his presence beside her (as if she had forgotten). Her voice hushed as she dropped her chin and she tore her gaze from Anna to the fingers timidly curling into place around her wrist, "I am."

His wistful sigh twisted in with the measured bars of the waltz and met her ears as she looked up to him, an expression of helpless adoration blooming across his features as his lips pressed tightly together. She can _feel_ him holding back the words she suspects are trying to tumble out for her, his eyes pleading for a reprieve from the silence she's commanded.

_She's heard them before, his elegant and perfect words spoken carelessly to conquer_ _some_ _foolish woman's heart_ _before he ever threw them at her. (Although he's never been successful with her. He has always used words liberally and thus they fail to carry the same significance to her.)_

"How long has this been going on, Elsa? How long have you been keeping secrets from me?" Anna askes, fragile voice filled with hurt.

Elsa's reply tumbles from her lips like a reflex before she can stop to think things through, "About five minutes, in all honesty."

"I don't believe you."

Elsa's chest heaves heavy while her eyes reflect the hurt that Anna's accusation causes – she's never been deceitful regarding her intentions, "Anna. I've _always_ been open and honest with you. _Always…"_

Anna hitches an eyebrow in reply.

He's respecting that she doesn't want or need him to intervene with his silver tongue. He offers his support by simply raising her captured wrist to guide her arm to tangle with his, the sensitive bare flesh of her forearm overwhelmed by the feel of the wool from his jacket sleeve caressing her as he tucks her protectively to his side. He carefully presses his lips to the crown of her head with the utmost reverence, and she can feel herself practically _melt_ under his lips, a chaste and tender gesture lighting her ablaze (he has previously only ever pressed his lips to her hand before). His actions speak with far more sincerity than anything he could possibly say, although he has the audacity to murmur quietly, "Cara mia, ti voglio bene."

Her eyes narrow as her lips quirk a shy grin, amused yet frustrated (he has never been one to follow orders, but rather twist them into his own plans), "Come ho già detto, muto come una tomba. I said silent as the grave, and the dead don't speak…even in Italian."

He chuckles softly as he straightened, a hum of disgruntled agreement rumbling from his chest.

"Don't." Anna's voice cracks like a whip as her anger flares, "Don't touch her as if you are staking claim. You have absolutely no right to her and you are delusional if you think this will go unchallenged. The treaty has been signed and I doubt France will yield to _you._ "

Elsa can feel his pride and his possessiveness pulling him tautly to attention, the way his chest expands with his held breath (much like a male peacock – if Anna were not so upset, Elsa would likely laugh at him). His lips part as he glowers at Anna, no doubt ready to rebut before he snaps his jaw tightly shut and averts his eyes as he steadies himself.

Elsa finds herself absurdly proud of him; years at sea have made him a bit more hot-headed than he was in his youth, but to his credit, he's keeping silent to deescalate things with Anna so Elsa may at least have an opportunity to assess the situation and determine what sort of damage control will be necessary.

Because Anna is absolutely _right._

Reality suddenly affixes itself to Elsa, her heart beating aberrantly with the catch of her breath. "I'm so sorry, Anna. I – I realize that the ramifications of my choices affect not just me, but the entirety of my Kingdom and its future peace and prosperity." Elsa wraps her loose hand over the top of his, fisted formally to his chest with her arm tucked closely to him. She meets his gaze and her heart _breaks,_ just as if felt whole, for the first time in forever. Elsa shifts to face flush to him, dropping her forehead to press to his chest as his free arm wraps tightly around her. Locked in his embrace, she can hear the stuttered breath he draws as he inhales her scent, the faint whimper of defeat in his exhale that pulls at her heart as his tattoos loudly through his chest.

He has no right to her, he never has. Especially after tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

_He had entered her life ten years earlier, an aspiring suitor with hopes of sharing her crown._

It was only after she refused him and evolved into a monster, abandoning her Kingdom in favor of one of isolation, that his plans had changed.

He was perfect and beautiful as he instead offered Anna everything she ever wanted in exchange for a position of opportunity and control, not that Anna saw it that way. And at the time, Elsa was too terrified of the horrific disaster she had unwittingly unleased upon _HER KINGDOM_ to fault him for having the ambition and skills to rise up and claim control of Arendelle in the absence of a true ruler. She'd never admit it to him, but she had to admire his ability to think so fluidly in the face of a crisis to single-handedly accomplish such an enormous goal.

_Rather, almost accomplish. Otherwise hers would be very different tale._

But after having been dredged out of the Arendelle fjord, Prince Hans no longer looked the part of the powerful, charming, brilliant young Royal, groomed for leadership and exuding confidence and charisma.

He was now simply a soggy mess.

She didn't want or need that.

It was the picture perfect Prince who offered his hand to a Queen she wanted to see.

_(Oh. He had. And she had wanted to indulge in the fairy tale…but she was forced to deny herself because no one could be that close to her. NO ONE.)_

She bit at the side of her cheek as she watched him being hauled to the deck of the ship, sharp blue eyes scrutinizing the way he still managed to carry himself with an air of authority, as if the soldiers who surrounded him were his men. He muttered something with a self-depreciating smile that stirred soft chuckles and comradery from the Arendelle guards before he glanced around at his surroundings and he met her gaze.

Their eyes meet and she seems to forget and remember _everything_ in the same breath _._ They stand silently, just staring for long moments, before a flicker of something flashes in his eyes, a flare of emotion or passion or _something_ she can't identify as his chest heaves with a breath which mirrored hers.

_(Somewhere deep down, something stirred inside her, and she realized she'd be disappointed if the flash of emotion he held in his eyes was remorse.)_

She raises her chin, her tone bored and dismissive, "See that he is made presentable, and notify me when he is such."

She wants him to be Prince Charming - not the drowned rat before her. It makes for a better show, after all (a large part of what all this is, is simply posturing, and she's sure he knows that). She suspects that others (Anna, namely) need him to be the villain…which up until earlier that afternoon, she was.

He had been _the_   _Heroic_   _Prince_ and she was _the Evil_ _Queen_.

The major difference was that she maintained control and her crown and he didn't, so she had the luxury of spinning the story the way she wanted _(perspective is everything, after all)_.

* * *

Formal punishments are almost always inflicted in public, using intentionally theatrical means to ensure the maximum deterrent effect.

Or so the swarms of visiting dignitaries would have her believe as they attempted to influence and persuade her (and her advisors, as well).

The French Ambassador spoke carefully, with a thick accent as he implored, "The scoundrel is a Prince – a member of a Royal House who currently holds the throne in his Kingdom. Thus, he understands the immensity of his grave actions and the need for swift consequences." He straightened in his chair as he looked to the others seated in Queen Elsa's council chamber for agreement, "You owe it to Arendelle to ensure she receives retribution. He must pay for his crimes, Your Majesty." Heads nodded around the room as quiet murmurs of agreement were heard. "One must be careful to portray an image of strength and control during the establishment of one's reign, Your Majesty. Now is not the time to be timid or allow…"

Elsa raised her hand to silence the Lord, noting the sharp intake of breath from the dignitaries and ambassadors seated closest to her. She mentally flinched, recognizing the twinge of fear that seemed to set in the French Ambassador's eyes.

She needed to decide what to do with it.

_Do I allow fear to be my ally, or my enemy?_

Not having the luxury of time to ponder what she truly felt was more of an ethical dilemma _(what she can and can't do differ greatly from what she will or won't do),_ she raised her chin and twisted her hand to conjure a small globe of flurried ice and snow as she met his eyes, "I don't believe that anything I have done has indicated that I, or my Kingdom, should be trifled with."

Elsa graciously accepted the wisdom and guidance offered to her by those in chambers before adjourning and looking for the only person whose opinion actually mattered.

Anna.

Elsa found Anna in her room, weaving her hair into simple plaits while seated at her vanity. Anna beamed a wide grin as Elsa entered, "Can you believe the crazy last few days we've had? 'Cause I can't!"

It was with genuine tinkling laughter that Elsa was forced to agree as she sat herself in a nearby chaise longue, watching her little sister fondly. "Actually, I can't."

Anna sighed gently and watched Elsa in the mirror for a moment, "I'm sorry, Elsa. For everything. I shouldn't have…"

"No. No," Elsa said firmly, "Don't apologize. Really." A small smile pulled at her lips, "Just, promise me you'll wait awhile before running head first into romance. This one ended badly, no offense."

Anna cringed as she drawled, "Yeah, no offense taken."

Elsa looked past Anna to her reflection in the mirror, "I promise I will never close the gates again, literally and figuratively. I want to be honest and open and no secrets between us."

Anna smiled at the promise, "Me too."

Elsa folded her hands carefully in her lap, feeling ridiculous for having to say this out loud, "We both must be practical and recognize that the intentions and actions of those who attempt to gain our trust have motivations that may not be as they seem. I am a young Queen, unwed and unpromised. Through marriage, my husband will rise to become Arendelle's King and rule by my side. I am a prize to be won, if only for the power gained. And so are you. Your husband will be at your side, next in line for the throne."

Elsa's shoulders slumped forward, tension twisted in her spine as her eyes shift downward.  Elsa awkwardly admitted, "I had refused to consider courtship from anyone prior to my coronation, and Prince Hans was among those who had presented themselves to me. I couldn't let anyone be that close, my curse would be discovered and I was trying too hard to conceal it to be willing to accept the risk."

Anna rose to sit beside her sister, dropping her head to Elsa's shoulder as she comforted her. They sat in peaceful silence, the severity of the past few days passing unspoken between them. Eventually Elsa took Anna's hand between hers, raising it to press her lips softly to her knuckles.

Anna sighed dramatically as her hand was lowered into Elsa's lap, fingers still wrapped together, "He did said you were preferable. He must have been insulted you wouldn't have him."

“Preferable?” Elsa burst out into giggles, stark contrast to the seriousness of the moment as she clutched Anna's hand tightly, " _Preferable?_ That's a rather odd way to put it."

Anna hummed in agreement before adding absentmindedly, "I would use that word differently. Like to say salmon is preferable to moose."

"Wait. Does that means I'm the salmon?” Elsa laughed louder,  she and Anna reduced to giggling heaps.

As her fit of giggles subsided, Anna wrapped her arms around Elsa, "What are you going to do with Prince Preferable?"

"I don't know."

"Really? You sat in counsel with a room full of really important people and still don't know?"

Elsa's lips curled as she kissed the crown of Anna's head, "You are most important. Because I love you. Truly, everything I do is for you. "

Anna brightened as she smiled, "I love you, too."

"So, _Most Important One,_ what advice do you have to offer me?"

"I like that. _Most Important One._ Can that be my title? And I no longer have to curtsy to greet you?"

"Sure," Elsa smirked. "Now focus. I want your advice."

Anna pushed herself up and shrugged her shoulders, "That punch was sort of cathartic. I suggest trying that then sending him home. He's got a dozen big brothers to deal with him, and I suspect that it's a fresh new level of hell that even Dante hadn't considered when he wrote _Dante's Inferno."_

 _"_ _Divine Comedy."_

Anna blinked confused, "What? It's funny?"

Elsa laughed gently, "No, Dante Alighieri's poem was titled _Divine Comedy. Inferno_ is just the first part of his work, it describes the recognition and rejection of sin. Sort of poetic you mention this in light of Prince Preferable's actions."

"Ah."

Elsa ran her fingers over the back of Anna's hand before softly stating, "I'm going to forgive him and send him home. Everyone wants me to be vengeful, seek retribution and act without mercy. But I'm pretty sure that people will respectfully fear me, and by extension Arendelle, based on the events of the last few days, not based on what I do with _him._ "

Anna's lips thinned as she thought, "Oh. Okay."

"Okay? That's all you have to say?"

"I still advise you to punch him," she says thoughtfully as she tips her head sideways.

Elsa shook her head fondly as her heart warmed at the opportunity before her – to be given her sister's love and presence in her life, all she's really ever really dared to _want,_ "Thank you, Most Important One."

* * *

Her words had evidently left him dumbfounded.

Prince Hans was at attention, clean and pressed in his princely finery, wearing a genuinely baffled expression as a sliver of frustration tangled with the tension rippling up back, "Your Majesty?"

The dungeon cell was dark and dank and cold despite the warmth of summer having been returned, the pungent scent of the cell seeping into her senses.  Elsa was beginning to regret having not sent for him, the odor triggering a wave of nausea.

She felt the burn of bile creep up her throat before she swallowed thickly and murmured quietly, "I choose to forgive you, Prince Hans. And choose not to see you stand trial in Arendelle for your crimes against my crown. You are to be returned to your kingdom this afternoon on the first departing vessel with an official explanation sealed by my crest recounting the events surrounding my coronation and your role in the crisis."

Hans simply stared at her, gaze becoming unfocused and dropping to the toe of her shoe as they stood in uncomfortable silence.

Elsa laced her ungloved fingers together before her as she pressed her shoulders downward, a mask of patience slipping into place.  She may have been locked away for years, but there were mirrors and she's no fool. She has to look the part. And without the unsettled fear that she can't hide her ice, it's a far easier mask to wear.

The silence stretches and settles awkwardly in her bones, so much so that she becomes slightly concerned that he may not have fully understood her. Finally, he blinks thoughtfully as she watches the muscles in his jaw tense and release slightly, but he remains silent.

Hans finally shifts his shoulders just slightly and pulls his head down as he whispers, with what Elsa can only describe as honest reverence, "Thank you, My Queen."

Elsa’s heart quickens slightly at the way his voice feathers up her spine and something warm twists deep inside. Hans sighs, "But I am truly unworthy of your forgiveness."

"None of us are without sin, and during our lives, we all may find ourselves lost in the darkness and unsure of the right way seek redemption and forgiveness in the eyes of God."

Hans smiles softly as he lift his chin, his gaze lazily trails up her form to meet her eyes, "You are truly too… _magnanimous,_ My Queen. _"_

_He didn't just…_

_He did._

_That was seductive..._

Elsa narrows her eyes at him, "And you, dear Prince, are wasting your breath."

Hans exhales in amusement and nods his head in a gentle bow, "Then I beg of you, forgive my insolence as well."

"It's not too late to align your fate with the gallows," Elsa sighs, embarrassingly enjoying his impertinence as no one has ever dared to take such a tone with her. She imagines she has been handled delicately due to her beauty and inexperience, and more recently because the dangerous magic she possesses.

"I fear your forgiveness would be wasted on a dead man," Hans manages in a deeply sincere voice that causes her to wonder how often he has stood before a Queen and been reprimanded _(his poor Lady Mother may have had her work cut out for her, if there is an ounce of truth to what Anna had insinuated earlier)._

It is at the feel of her lips beginning to quirk into a grin that she catches herself and her breath, and stops.

_What am I doing?_

She's accomplished what she'd come for; offered her forgiveness for his sins before it could be asked of her (although it would likely lack any sincerity whatsoever), so she shifts her weight and turns to leave.

Hans’ voice echoes off the stone walls, "Why? Why just send me back from whence I came?"

Elsa meets his gaze one last time, eyes green like spring and carrying a sorrowful look of adoration, heartbroken and beautiful.

Elsa’s eyes curve and twist upwards as she remembers her _Most Important One (her_ _why),_ and smiles, "Are you familiar with Dante Alighieri's _Divine Comedy_?"

"Of course."

"Contrapasso," she replies quietly.

His eyes seem to sparkle, "Ah, divine revenge. Fulfilling poetic justice of a destiny freely chosen by each soul during his life?"

A pensive hum is her rely as the cell door is shut behind her.

_(He departed that afternoon in the custody of the French Ambassador, without trial or punishment imposed by Arendelle, bound for the Southern Isles.)_

* * *

The obligatory apology from The Southern Isles and official declaration disavowing any prior knowledge or support of the actions of _Prince Hans Westergård_ came quickly, within the first month of her reign.

It was quite anticlimactic, really.


	3. Chapter 3

_Nine years earlier..._

The early spring thaw of winter's ice and retching open of the frozen harbors was always received with excitement and anticipation, and the first spring of Queen Elsa's reign was no different - ships and goods finally arriving in port after months of solitude for Arendelle.

This would mark the arrival of foreign matters to attend to, responses and revisions to various agreements and treaties, announcements of planned summits and diplomatic galas – and Elsa relished the opportunity to focus on matters of the Kingdom and demonstrate exactly what she had been born to do, rather than the social nonsense of the courtiers that she had anxiously tolerated all winter long. Thank goodness Anna thrived on that aspect of court life; she rued the day she promised Anna that she would never close the gates again because that meant people who wanted things of her were always around…people and their judgmental glances and quiet opinions. Full of false pleasantries and condescending eyes, the courtiers in general were vague enough to escape notice, yet there were those who's lot in life was to pry.

It had been two days filled with endless hours of gloriously quiet paperwork mixed with thoughtful and vey productive council meetings before Elsa found herself working through the documents sent from the Southern Isles, and inadvertently she stumbled across it - tucked somewhere between a trade agreement and an acknowledgement of some maritime accord.

Hans' letter.

Elsa removed it from the pile, realizing she had given no thought the infuriating cad in almost a year.

It was only after she broke the seal and stared at his name scrolled with a flourish at the bottom of the parchment that it occurred to her that perhaps she should have, well - not broken the seal and stared at his name scrolled with a flourish at the bottom of the parchment. Because she now she was curious.

_Oh figs._

The late afternoon light was streaming in through the paned window, warming her back and casting warm yellow shadows across her desk as she glanced up, noting that her foreign affairs advisor dozing off in his chair across the room allowed for the momentary privacy necessary to satisfy her curiosity.

A hot wave of something akin to guilt washes over her and settles in her chest for a breath before she scolded herself, for a heartbeat not wanting the rather stern older gentleman to realize what she was reading. (She is QUEEN - as if she should be ashamed to tend to the paperwork and correspondence that her advisor had set on her desk. It's not her fault Prince Hans' letter was there, or so she rationalizes.) With a harrumph she steadied herself, straightening her posture and pensively dropping her eyes to the paper.

_HM Queen Elsa of Arendelle,_

_It is with sincere gratitude that I thank you for not throwing this letter straight into the fire as soon as you realized its author, as I can appreciate there must have been immense hesitation accompanying your decision to break the seal and actually read it. That is unless one of your advisors made the decision for you; if such is the case, may I suggest that Her Majesty consider reassignment of the administrative staff in question? After all, this is personal correspondence intended for your beautiful eyes, not his. Although, I am sure his are beautiful as well, that is if one is attracted to things such as a steward's prying eyes. But I fear I have digressed under the assumption that you, My Queen, are not actually reading this._

Her lips part with an amused breath, a rush of excitement at the absurdity of his correspondence – far too polite to be sincere, yet too informal for what it should be. She finds her eyes skim the same phrase too many times before she realizes she would be madly disappointed if it were anything but. Her eyes darted back to the older man, his head nodded forward further, heavy with sleep and threatening to make contact with the desktop before him. Elsa's teeth catch her lower lip in anticipation as her eyes dropped back to the paper.

_Our parting conversation pushed to the forefront of my thoughts upon my return home almost a year ago, "Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate"._

She blinks as her teeth release her lip and her mouth crooks, creases catching in a frown. _("Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.")_

He speaks Italian? And is he quoting Alighieri?

Her head tilts to the side, thoughts lost in the masculine hand of the letter when she realizes she's…impressed. Her fingers flex suddenly, releasing the parchment to slip to the desktop as if it burned her.

Oh no…

She bites down the guilt that settles again in her chest and stands, chair scraping harshly against the wood floor and startling her advisor to attention as she stalks to the fireplace. "Your Majesty?" he coughed, cheeks flushing with embarrassment (she assumes). Elsa simply shakes her head in response to her title twisted as a question, pitching the letter into the flames of the study fire, watching corners catch and curl in the flame before crackling into ash.

(She would later regret her decision not to finish the rest of the letter. Again, curiosity. She shared with Anna that his letter had arrived, and discover that Anna WAS NOT curious regarding its contents.)

The following month, another letter arrived.

Then another.

AND ANOTHER.

AND ANOTHER…

_(And another, and another…)_

The summer ended, winter set in, and another year passed.

Again, the spring thaw and opening of harbors were celebrated throughout the Snow Queen's Kingdom, and Elsa found herself to be a foolish victim of some sort of anticipation fluttering in the pit of her stomach with every afternoon of foreign correspondence, and within the first month his letter arrived - a small smile pulling at her mouth as she broke the seal and smirked at his eloquent words (others would follow with regularity throughout the summer and into autumn). His last letter arrived before the hard freeze of winter and his seal remained unbroken for days, and marked the end of Anna's silent tolerance.

"You know, everyone thinks it's weird and can't understand why you allow it to continue. The courtiers were all talking about it today at tea. It's like he has nothing better to do that write you a bunch of nonsense," Anna says with frustration at dinner, poking her fork at her white fish with her chin rested in her hand.

Elsa pauses cutting her potato, placing her silver cutlery gently along the side of the china and dropping her hands into her lap as blue eyes met, " _My Most Important One_ , you know I only care what you think."

Anna shoots her a flat look.

"And I - I suppose you are right, although I am unsure how you would suggest I stop him from writing letters without making an international incident of it," Elsa said quietly, voice laced with humor. "He may not have anything better to do than to write me. His naval training has been put to use, and he's been deployed at sea since being returned to the Southern Isles - a form of banishment, I suspect. And evidently there isn't a lot to do aside from stay off nausea and scurvy in between naval skirmishes and port calls."

"What? Really?" Anna says with annoyed surprise, chin rising from her hand as she looks up at Elsa.

Elsa raises a shoulder nonchalantly, "He's an Admiral, or so he writes. Although, I am not sure what lying about that would accomplish." Anna's blank stare prompts Elsa's sigh as she admits, "He writes about philosophy and his thoughts on literature, shares bits of political intrigue and history that don't make it into my books, mentions the latest gossip from the foreign courts he visits, brags incessantly about himself and his conquests with what I can only describe as a rather narcissistic sense of importance. But truthfully, I can't help but be intrigued."

_"WHAT?"_

Elsa straightens, "Don't misunderstand my curiosity; I take every word from him with a fair dose of skepticism. It's like there is an ever elusive hint of a human hiding beneath the layers, which makes an occasional rare appearance."

Anna's mouth is left gaping open like a cod as her fork drops with a clank upon her plate.

Elsa blinks, slight offense creasing her brow, "What?"

" _Elsa!_ You're curious about him?!" Anna snaps quietly as her eyes dart to the maids and butlers lingering nearby.

"Anna, I am not sure where the confusion is coming from," Elsa says calmly, raising her wine glass to her lips and knowing exactly where the confusion is coming from.

Anna's voice was low and disappointed, "Elsa. What is it, are you lonely? You need to find someone else to write you letters."

"Others do write - it's not that. It's just…I don't know how to explain it," Elsa's eyes scan the space between them like it holds the words she searches for. She breathes very carefully, watching Anna cautiously and realizing that she wants to write him, for no reason whatsoever aside from to just finding out how he would react. What he would truly say to her if he knew she would read it, "Perhaps because we have a shared history of a very dark time, a time when he was _The Heroic Prince_ and I was _The Evil Queen_ , but I'm considering writing him back."

"You were _**NEVER** The Evil Queen_ , Elsa…and I think you are way out of line thinking he was _The Heroic Prince_ ," Anna pauses for a moment and looks somewhere over Elsa's shoulder, "Well, maybe he was heroic at first. Or pretended to be heroic." Anna huffs and shakes her head as her hand flail somewhere in front of her, "Wait! Don't you care about what I have to say?"

"I don't see it that way at all. We did forgive him and I am obligated to portray the nobility of grace and forgivingness during my reign," Elsa reminds her gently.

Anna huffed as she slumped back into her dining chair, crossing her arms tightly to her chest as she scowled at her fish, "How do you like that? Elsa's curious. Elsa's lost her marbles!"

Elsa's heart clenches painfully, eyes starting to sting, embarrassed as she becomes aware of the staff's ears perked and catching the entire conversation - which will no doubt spread like wildfire through the castle by the end of the evening, "Anna…you know that you are too important for me to do _ANYTHING_ you may think is inappropriate. I won't write him if you don't want me to."

Anna sat straighter and resumed picking at her fish before muttering, "You do what you think is right. If writing to Prince Preferable is what you think you need to do, so be it. But you're absolutely crazy. Like, _Ice Crazy_." Anna's smile hides with the duck of her head and the sudden shoving of flaked fish into her mouth.

"Ice Crazy?"

Anna looks at Elsa wide-eyed, the perfect imitation of innocent.

Elsa smirks, "I love you, Anna."

They fall in to comfortable silence before Anna questioned with calm confusion, "Elsa, are you making it snow? Don't tell me you've actually gone all ice crazy."

Elsa can't prevent the slight panic and guilt from stirring her stomach as she paused to focus.

_Wait. What snow?_

Elsa's anxiety surges, memories of ice flaring against her will from her toes and fingertips, freezing a fjord and her world when she blinks her eyes. Desperate, her gaze catches the window pane and finds graceful flurries of swirling and dancing snow just outside, the first natural snow of the season.

_Oh._

"No, Anna," Elsa replies, voice small with a hint of relief, "not my snow." Elsa finds her appetite wanes suddenly, and her wine glass becomes far more interesting as Anna resumes chatting happily, this time about her afternoon adventure in the village with Kristoff, something about chocolate and melted and Sven was a mess. The wine warms her, loosening her bones and lowering her guard as she retires for the night and her thoughts focus on him.

_HM Queen Elsa of Arendelle,_

_My Queen, I pray this letter finds you well – preparing for the solitude of winter, I suspect. As the winds have changed, I must acknowledge that this will likely be my last note to you until the ice breaks in your harbors next spring. I imagine you may actually look forward to the reprieve from the regularity of such reminders of my continued existence, and I again thank you for allowing me to indulge in such a luxury, one which I am not entitled – your thoughts._

_I fear I have grown to love life at sea, although my letters likely portray this to you already. The experience of naval life is often portrayed as one of suffering in something little more than floating punishment, where an unwilling crew is systematically beaten, starved and terrorized into doing their duty. Meanwhile disease is ever present. This notion has undoubtedly partly arisen because of Doctor Johnson's famous observation that going to sea was akin to being in prison, with the added danger of drowning. I confess that I found nothing could be further from the truth. Perhaps it is because it is such a far cry from the formal court life I once knew, but I have become pleasantly satisfied in my apathy regarding my fate as a sailor-Prince, content with the clockwork cadence of time marching forward. For that, Elsa, I must thank you._

_As I have had no word persuading me otherwise, My Queen, I shall continue to write and with patience await the spring and one day, dare I hope – your reply._

_I have the honour to be, Madam, Your Majesty's humble and obedient servant as long as I draw breath,_

_Hans_

Elsa sits at her desk in her private chambers, dressed for bed and wrapped in a silken robe with a glass of wine in her hand, staring at a blank sheet of parchment like freshly fallen snow – her words having endless potential to mark a path like footsteps showing others where she has been and where she will go. And wondering what the deuce she is thinking considering writing him back, the promise of disapproving whispers from the courtiers behind her back gives her a slight thrill and provides a rush of defiance she latches onto. She glances at the stack of letters she had received from him over the years, swirling the last of the wine in her glass, and putting pen to the well and taping gently before beginning, feeling slightly devious.

_HRH, Admiral Prince Hans Westergård of the Southern Isles,_

_You have been amazingly presumptuous and far too bold – interpreting my silence as condoning or tolerating your attempts at correspondence. To be frank, I find you impertinent and far to brazen for your own good, although as a sailor-Prince, I suspect it is to be expected._

She frowned just slightly as she watched the ink dry, hesitant with her words and how much of herself and her thoughts to offer – her personal correspondence, in and of itself, an honour. She dropped her pen back into the well and balled the paper up before throwing it into the fire.

Eventually, she settled on an appropriate greeting (not varying much from her original) and closure.

But still had nothing to say.

After an hour of ridiculous struggle, she simply settled on, _'Be safe, winters at sea can be both foul and fair – I would hate for anything truly awful to happen to you. And please do continue to write, for no other reason than to give my courtiers something to talk about.'_

Her letter, bound for The Southern Isles, left the next morning upon the last ship to depart the Arendelle harbour before the hard freeze of winter, ice swirling and crashing gently against its bow – marking the last passage of the season.


	4. Chapter 4

_Six years earlier…_

After a season of actual correspondence, exchanging letters and very candid thoughts that she had never really shared with anyone before, Elsa held firmly to her belief that Hans was a _JACKASS_ (and privately she simply adored him for it). His letters were like nothing that anyone had ever written her before, or even dared to say or do in her presence. And she was quite certain that he was only unusual for the fact he shared his unfiltered words with her rather than mask them from her delicate sensibilities.

Despite the fact the content of his letters (and hers, as time when on) were terribly casual and familiar, Hans persisted in holding firm to his courtly manners and etiquette which infuriated Elsa to no end. Elsa had become uncensored herself, talking about literature, politics, even religious doctrine quite frankly. She would deteriorate to quipping and debating in a battle of wits at times with the good-for-nothing cad when he challenged her. He had the audacity to continue to write things that were completely inappropriate for a woman's eyes (let alone a Queen), at first he apologized if he offended her, explaining that he had written such things because he believed her steward was reading the letters before burning them in the fire and he " _wanted to provide the pompous windbag something entertaining to read_." Yet he persisted in gloating (to her, a Queen) about things such as his violent and bloody naval battles and resulting scars or conquests with his Lady Mother's least favourite courtier (evidently he exalts in his successful annoyance of his Lady Mother).

She had made an off-handed remark questioning his physical prowess and inferred he had a lack of abilities with the fairer sex after he recounted to her some midnight escapade that ended badly, to which Hans replied, " _You are simply EVIL, Your Majesty. So evil one might say you are from the fruit of the Devil – EVIL! Hurting the pride of a dashing Prince such as myself with your ridiculous accusations which are completely unfounded"._

She was feeling particularly malevolent as she wrote, _"But of course, Hans! I AM the Evil Queen, ruler of my majestic fairy tale kingdom, and while you may be the heroic Prince - you failed. Thus, I get to tell the story the way I want. And in my fairy tale, you lack finesse with women."_

His reply came quickly.

_H.M. The Evil Queen,_

_Thank you for acknowledging that I am indeed the HEROIC Prince who saved your Kingdom from the detrimental effects of YOUR cursed and evil winter, and the Duke of Weaselton's attempts to weaken Arendelle by hoarding its tradeable goods. And, may I add, without my aid, your darling sister's heart would have frozen solid._

_You're welcome, Your Grace._

_I have the honour to be, Madam, Your Majesty's humble and obedient servant, regardless of your truly evil nature, My Queen._

_The Heroic Prince Hans_

Elsa expected something along those lines to be his reply, laughing gleefully…regardless of how horrified she was that they were teasing each other about something so terrible. Anna, on the other hand, refused to allow Elsa to reply or write further, "No. You're done. Find a new topic of conversation or I shall forbid further correspondence with the jerk."

 

* * *

 

It was late winter, just before what should have been the thaw of spring when her world shifted and she was forced to face the dark reality of rule.

Arendelle had fallen under attack.

Her Fleet Admiral began sombrely, "I fear we have failed to prepare you for the realities of war; mistakenly we assumed there was the luxury of time on our side, Your Majesty."

The Barrier Islands had fallen under attack by forces from Weaselton during the dead of winter, when the majority of the Arendelle fleet was iced into harbours and unable to engage. The reports from the Barrier Islands were that there were civilian casualties and great loss of property and infrastructure, every ship and vessel destroyed. The Barrier Islands were now under the control of Weaselton and The Arendelle fleet had thus far been unsuccessful due to the weather to assist effectively or provide protection.

Elsa sat wide-eyed and half-hearing what was said, frost coating the floor and ice crackling up the walls, "Oh no. No…" A cold ache caught her chest as time stood still. That is until she realized she was _stark raving MAD._

That… _BASTARD!_

She drew breath threw her nose slowly as her eyes drifted closed, centring herself and in a heartbeat the ice vanished. She didn't need to intimidate her own people, it was the outside world that needed the reminder of exactly who she was…who she could be.

A MONSTER.

Thankfully, what her Admiral wanted was a livid Queen, spoiling for a fight.

She's pretty sure she's simply acquiescing to his requests due to her inexperience, her insecurity, and her delicate sensibilities (Hans' taunting words came to mind). Plans were made and funds released from the treasury to support relief efforts once control was regained, and Elsa cried herself to sleep in Anna's arms that night – too weary to think.

Prince Hans visited her dreams that night (and every other night during the crisis). In her weakness she sought refuge in his arms while he whispered tender words of reassurance that she could do it, she would unite Arendelle once again and asked her to allow him to help...to help save Arendelle and keep her and her people safe while professing his undying love for her. He captured her lips and she was lit ablaze with passion and lust as erotic images flashed, even coming to climax under his touch and awakening to a frozen room and snow blanketing every visible surface…her heart raced as consciousness set it. It became a routine; awake horrified then conjure an icy reincarnation of him just to blast him into tiny pieces with her magic – retribution for lurking around in her dreams, uninvited and unwelcomed. She felt much better after that and could face herself in the mirror.

* * *

 

Reports began to surface of the Southern Isles Naval Fleet having come to the aid of the Barrier Islands, providing access to medical attention and resources after challenging and destroying the Weaselton ships who did not retreat. The Southern Isles Naval Fleet under the command of Admiral Westergård secured the harbours and drove back the invaders in the name of Her Majesty, Queen Elsa of Arendelle.

Anna was unwilling to comment regarding Hans' involvement until Elsa began ranting furiously one night after a glass of wine, "He assumes I am simply a delicate little Queen, helpless and without resources, so he has to step in without asking! He didn't even give me a chance to fight my own battle. These are MY PEOPLE. My Arendelle. Not his!"

Anna huffed, "Put the glass of wine down and get over yourself already! This is not the time for delusions of grandeur, Elsa! He owes us. Let him help when we couldn't. Our harbours were frozen solid, his were not. And the Southern Isles has amassed the largest and most successful navy in this region of the world, and intervened in support of us! Why are you mad at him?"

Elsa froze, startled by Anna's words and insight. "You're right. I'm. I. I'm so sorry." She looked sadly at Anna before embracing her tightly, "It's not about me. Or him. Or us. It's about the people of Arendelle and ensuring they are protected and cared for."

"Yes, it is. And please feel free to yell at him - later. Just…not now," Anna smiled. "Now is time to demonstrate the nobility of grace and humble appreciation, right?"

* * *

 

Elsa refrained from comment until her military council meeting a few weeks later, when a letter from the Admiral of the Southern Isles Fleet Forces arrived, personally address to Her Majesty, Queen Elsa of Arendelle. It did not escape her notice that is was penned in HIS hand.

Elsa broke the seal and read the note before her council and Fleet Admiral, narrowing her eyes and balling the parchment up and pitching it at her Admiral, "You sailors are truly something, Sir." She rose and stalked out of the meeting and straight to Anna's chambers.

"That jerk wasted a piece of parchment to tell me, 'You're welcome'. Seriously. An entire sheet of parchment for two words," Elsa growled as she entered Anna's room.

Anna glanced up from her needlepoint and sighed, "You know he's a jerk, why would you expect otherwise? I told you it was a bad idea to correspond with him. He's now under the impression he can say whatever he wants to you, however he wants to say it. And although I disagree with his methods, we should be thanking him. Right, Elsa?"

Elsa bit her lip and sat beside Anna, fidgeting with her fingers and averting her gaze, "I don't know why this bothers me so much. I – I wield the forces of winter but can't keep my kingdom safe by myself."

Anna giggled, "No, you can't. And you know what, that's okay. You'll be prepared next winter for something like this happening and stop it. But, this time, Hans helped. It's not the end of the world." Anna dropped her needlepoint into her lap and took Elsa's hands into hers, "Have you said 'thank you' yet to him? Because without his help, the Barrier Islands would currently be under the control of Weaselton."

Elsa's lips thinned as she stared hard at Anna, "I really don't like you sometimes, Most Important One."

"I love you, too," Anna smirked as she kissed Elsa on the cheek. "Now then. You have a letter to write, don't you?"

It was the next morning her letter to Admiral Prince Hans Westergård, Commander of the Southern Isles Fleet Forces, departed for the Southern Isles.

_Hans,_

_Thank You._

_Elsa_


	5. Chapter 5

_Five years earlier..._

Elsa's hands are _freezing_ as she wrings them together nervously.

_Just._

_Breathe._

Inside she's flustered and anxious, fingers tingling with her ice wishing to coat the room all thanks to her first official trip to the Southern Isles. It's been heralded as a diplomatic visit, her attendance arranged by her advisors and the Arendelle ambassador to the Southern Isles. Every kingdom in the region sending their rulers and dignitaries to gather for the week long peace summit hosted annually by a different kingdom – the next year being Arendelle's turn to host for the first time (in forever), thus it was felt she _should_ attend (essentially she was forced).

_I don't want to do this._

_I'll have to DANCE._

Elsa stands in a glittering dark blue gown made of her own ice, one based on a Parisian design that Anna convinced her to try to recreate with her magical fabric when the invitation had arrived months earlier. Elsa had to admit it was exquisite _,_ the way the icy gown and snowflake lace drapes to the floor like a work of art, off the shoulders with long, sheer snowflake frosted sleeves that accentuate the graceful lines of her neck and collarbones. The iced fabric fits like a second skin to every curve of her torso and she feels practically _naked_ despite yards of magical fabric and Gerda's reassurance to her that she looks regal and sophisticated and _absolutely not naked._

She is startled to attention by the Southern Isles page announcing her arrival, **"Her Majesty, Queen Elsa of Arendelle."**

She is the solitary figure at the top of a grand staircase to an ostentatiously ornate ballroom as she is announced for the opening gala. Nearly a thousand guests dip into bows and curtsies with chins tucked and eyes lowered as she begins her descent, hushed whispers and small gasps of awe filling the air. The orchestra's brass section accompanies her entrance, the horns announcing the procession of the attending Monarchs. She forces a breath out in a soft rush as she lifts her chin and takes her first step down the staircase with a practiced smile. Her eyes scan the majestic scene before her - truly a surreal experience, at the age of six and twenty to have a ballroom of kingdoms halt and acknowledge her arrival with such immense reverence – everyone bows and curtsies.

_Except for HIM._

The flutter of nerves and the tingle of treacherous frost at her fingertips fades, a twitch of a smile sets when her eyes meet his.

Hans wears strange expression that Elsa can't decipher as he stands stock still and unguarded, staring at her from afar as the young blonde courtier who had been hanging on his arm moments earlier manages to detaches herself to curtsy with perfect precision (although the woman's eyes dart to Hans at her side, who persists in standing stupidly, _NOT BOWING_ ).

His hair is kept longer now, tied neatly back away from his face. Rows of medals and ribbons are proudly displayed across his chest that were not present on his uniform during her coronation, evidence of his immense success in battle – the five years at sea have been far busier than he lets on (strangely).

Despite the time that has passed since her coronation and the unusual…whatever one might call their complicated situation - Elsa was worried that when she finally saw him again that she's be back on a frozen fjord with the storm inside raging out of control – panicked and incapacitated by guilt and fear and collapsed onto the ice awaiting her fate.

But she's not.

(Back on the fjord.)

She can tell Hans has held his breath because he's not moving a muscle, and she can only guess what sort of ridiculous comment is frozen on his tongue. She arches a questioning eyebrow at him as her lips pull, resisting the nervous giggle that wants to escape – he knew she was coming. In fact, he had been an _ASS_ about it, accusing her of not having the fortitude to step into the lion's den (that is, come to the Southern Isles). She watches him blink before he laughs gregariously with his smile, mouth pulling wide and genuine as he murmurs something before coming to his senses and bowing properly.

_Yet, not._

Elsa feels her irritation flare momentarily, her pulse bounding hot and overwhelmed as she decides he needs to _stop that._

Hours later the midnight sky is inked and studded with stars as Elsa stands on a balcony overlooking moonlit rose gardens, the faint sounds of dancing and music filling the still air. She's quietly chatting with an Italian, Count Orsini-something-or-other and one of Hans' brothers, Prince Lars, the tenth – if she recalls correctly, whom she finds benign regardless of what Hans has written over the years. They are discussing the latest opera from a German composer who had the nerve to compose it in German for an Austrian Emperor – not in Italian (Italian nobility have taken great offense). Not just for the language chosen, as all educated people agree upon the fact that opera should be in _Italian,_ but because the whole thing is set in a seraglio. A harem. In Turkey. Elsa's expression must be one that Count Orsini-something-or-other mistakes for naïve confusion (given her 'delicate sensibilities', or so Hans insists) and explains that a seraglio is a brothel.

_Good Lord…_

Elsa finds the entire conversation so ridiculous that she fails to notice Hans at her side until he utters her name softly in her ear in a wonderfully familiar way (but terribly disrespectful given his station and hers) _._

_OKAY._

She's practiced this.

She's anticipated everything.

Except his soft smile that contradicts the fire in his eyes.

Elsa's words to him have been well rehearsed (thanks to Anna who remained back in Arendelle – she forced Elsa to practice every day for a week before she left), the very words that now sit on her tongue refusing to be spoken as her heart does some sort of terrible leaping, skipping thing _,_ making her euphoric and nervous and _unsure._ She stares breathlessly at him, mirroring the timid twist of his mouth.

_Say something._

_Say something._

Hans takes advantage of her shock, offering his hand to her. Her mind is too slow to process what he is doing (maybe it's the party talking, or the chocolate fondue), and to her dismay she accepts it before she's settled on anything. She finds herself being led onto the ballroom floor and left fretting over the fact she can't seem to say _NO._

His gloved hand repositions its grip on hers as he gracefully folders her into the curve of his arm with his chin lifted and shoulders squared. Elsa adopts the formal posture her dance tutors in years past would have demanded as the waltz begins, and Hans meets her eyes with a strange intensity as he leads her effortlessly through the steps. Silence hangs between them, and suddenly she's horribly aware of him watching her, watching him.

Hans breaks the silence first, "You look absolutely enchanting _,_ My Queen."

She'd distracted by the fact she's now stepped on his feet twice, "Hm, yes."

"Although your wide eyes betray your anxiety in my arms," he laughs quietly.

Her words tumble from her lips as she raises her head before her eyes dart to her feet once more, "I don't dance, so this is awkward. I mean, you're awkward. I'm gorgeous."

"You are gorgeous," he smiles softly, seemingly unoffended. "So it's nothing personal? Your wide eyes brimming with anxiety?" he hums happily as he pulls her slightly closer, forcing her gaze to him and away from her feet. "If you stop looking down, this will go smoother. You're overthinking everything. You just have to let go. Let me lead you."

Suddenly her treacherous dreams from the time of the Weaselton attacks come to mind. How he took her into his arms and comforted, offered to be by her side and help her lead. Then there were the erotic moments...and she's not thrilled with that.

"You're holding me too close," she snaps as her eyes widen (as if that was at all possible), wishing his voice wasn't so seductive.

"Ah," he sighs without adjust his proximity to her, "I was hoping for a fabulously acerbic comment. But an argumentative one is just as good."

Her eyebrow hitches at him and he laughs.

"Oh, there's a smile! Come on, give the courtiers something good to wag their tongues at!"

She sighs and drops her chin to her chest as she looks at her feet suppressing a smile before snapping her head up again and looking somewhere over his shoulder (oh yes, there are courtiers watching).

He continues, "They do love a bit of scandalous gossip, and I dare say that the Snow Queen of Arendelle cradled in the arms of the youngest Prince of the Southern Isles is quite the juicy titbit."

"Do you ever not run your mouth, or is it simply for my benefit?" she sighs, not looking at him.

"Everything I am, is simply for your benefit, My Queen," he says, his voice like silk yet there is an odd sincerity to it that catches her off guard. "And yes, occasionally I don't run my mouth, as you put it. But it would be uncouth not to converse as we danced. Although some people," he pauses dramatically looking pointedly at her, "are quite adept at saying very little in reply."

Elsa finally looks at him and the strange euphoric feeling in her stomach returns as she meets his eyes, "Ah, so you're considering my feelings and not simply your own desires?" Her lips twist a smirk, falling into a teasing banter far too easily (Anna would be irritated, as she had given explicit instructions to not to).

Hans grins, "Of course."

They fall into silence as he twirls her expertly before pulling her _closer,_ inhaling sharply as she steps on his toes again. "You're a terrible dancer."

"You need a haircut."

He grins again yet doesn't reply, she finds herself lost in his eyes and wondering what he is thinking; what does he thinks of her and this strange relationship between them. Because she is perplexed. As the final stanzas of the waltz meet her ears, she remembers part of her practiced words, (likely the only part that matters, anyway), "Thank you, Hans. For your help, last winter."

He appears surprised by the soft, sincere tone of her voice, his eyes widening slightly. He wets his lips as his gaze drops to her mouth, "We heroic Princes do what we can to serve our Evil Queens, Your Grace." He snaps his eyes up to meet hers with a smirk.

_And…there it is._

Her eyebrow hitches and he finds his uniform _frozen._

" _OH!_ That's COLD," he squeaks quietly with a sharp inhale.

She smiles coyly as she dips her chin and gazes up at him through thick lashes. "Oh?" she says, feigning surprised innocence.

Hans narrows his eyes slightly in reply as he smiles sweetly, "See? Evil."

She's embarrassed about how easily the tinkling of laughter spills from her lips as she finds herself regarding him fondly before humming in agreement. "Yes, warn the others, would you?" She thaws her ice as the waltz ends, he releases her hand and waist slowly, fingertips grazing her side as his hand retreats. He begins to bow and she realizes she really can't stand him doing that…

"And by the way, if you can't bow without mocking me – don't."

"I won't, My Queen."

"Mock me?" she tries, knowing exactly what he meant.

"Bow," he replies simply.

She smirks as she turns on her heal, throwing over her shoulder, "Don't follow."

* * *

Elsa doesn't bother to look at him as she gazes across the ballroom floor, the late hour seems to have ushered in a certain degree of debauchery and loosened morals, the likes of which Elsa has never witnessed in her own court and she finds she's unable to overt her eyes. "I told you not to follow, Hans."

Hans clear his throat and offers her a flute of champagne, "I didn't. You walked away. I watched. Then I came to you."

Her eyes drop to the golden liquid celebrating in the crystal stemware before her, a sliver of his wrist exposed as he extends his hand to her. She's not sure which to look at so she settles for taking the flute from him with a sigh, "Nuance."

"Let's play a game. Shall we have a wager, My Queen?"

She should retire herself for the night, rest her mind before the first meetings of the morning. But she can't seem to turn her brain off…she's overwhelmed and overstimulated and wide awake.

"You choose the courtier," he continues, taking her silence for consent, "and I'll tell you who he or she is currently bedding."

The flute of champagne freezes at her lips as he laughs _wicked,_ she swallows her sip painfully hard _._

He winks when her eyes dart to his, "All in good fun, of course."

_Anna is going to kill me._

She exhales in defeat, eyes falling to the frozen bubbles in the flute as she curses herself (and him…but mostly herself) for coming to this blasted summit to begin with. "Of course," she replies dryly.

"If I win, you'll join me for lunch. Privately."

"If I win, you'll not speak to me for the rest of the summit."

She turns her head and raises her flute towards him with a smirk as he nods his head in agreement and they clink the crystal stemware gently together, "Salute, Mia Regina. Sono d'accordo." _(Cheers, My Queen. We have an agreement.)_

_Italian._

Her mind wanders to his letters and the languages he had written her in, Italian being the one to capture her imagination most vividly. The warmth of Hans' body radiates across the still air between them as he steps too close and whispers, "Make it a challenge." A shiver runs up her spine as his hot breath tempts her earlobe, his voice all caramel and smoke.

The champagne in her flute thaws without her having to think.

_Oh figs._

_ANNA IS GOING TO KILL ME…_

They stand silently sipping champagne, watching the body language of the men and women still left enjoying the gala. And she ponders his venal lifestyle as she scrutinizes those before her. After five minutes of watching, she's frustrated and self-aware and can't take it. "I'm no good at this, I don't bother with the gossip in my own court, why would I care to dissect that of another court, let alone the Southern Isles?"

Hans chuckles, "Feel free to concede."

Elsa realizes suddenly she's been had.

He's trying to trick her.

Her eyes narrow as she turns, shoving her empty flute into his gloved hand and grabbing his in exchange for hers. Hans appears delighted in her frustration, or more so in the fact she's rising to the occasion and refusing to back down from their little game. She takes a sip from his flute before, "It would only be fair to have an advisor knowledgeable in the subject matter provide a little insight."

His grin sharpens as he places her empty flute on a butler's tray and takes his flute away from her, finishing the drink and setting it beside the other empty crystal as the butler passes. He leans closer, threading her arm into his as they stand flush to the room, "I will tell you all I know or have heard."

Elsa turns slightly to watch his expression, to catch the gaze of his eyes as she whispers seductively, "Which is your Lady Mother's least favourite at the moment?"

Hans stiffens subtly as his eyes shift.

_Gotcha._

Elsa smiles as she removed her arm from his and begins to approach the woman his eyes had darted very subtlety towards, a blonde woman dressed in a blue gown who stands slightly inebriated bedside the blonde courtier who had been on his arm earlier in the evening when she first saw him. She giggles, pleased with herself as he calls after her, "Elsa. Stop."

"You've bedded her. Recently. The one in the blue," she says plainly turning back to him and linking her fingers together before her, chin raised.

His Adam's apple bobs as his lips press tightly together suppressing a laugh.

She is genuinely surprised that this doesn't bother her in the least, and smiles brightly as the champagne begins to buzz through her veins. She stands patiently, awaiting his confirmation.

"Yes."

_Ha!_

"I look forward to you avoiding further conversation with me for the duration of the summit," she grins as she turns. "However, I would appreciate an escort to my chambers."

Her guards follow behind without question (no doubt they are confused beyond belief, but unwilling to question the icy sorceress). Hans rambles ridiculously the entire walk to the guest wing where she is staying, and she finds herself enchanted hearing his words rather than reading them.

He pauses as they arrive at her door, a slightly wistful sigh escaping him as he raises the back of her hand to his lips, his hot breath ghosting over her knuckles, "Buona notte e sogni d'oro" ( _Good night and sweet dreams)._

_Italian…damn him._

No.

No.

_NO._

She can't seem to stop herself, "Buono notte, Hans." _(Good night, Hans)._ Elsa withdraws her hand held loosely in his as he straightens, studying him with slightly fuzzy thoughts. When Anna questions later, she will report too much champagne was to blame when she decides, "On the last day of the summit I'll join you for lunch. If you remain quiet and avoid talking with me until then."

He smiles, raising his hand and waving slightly as he turns on his heal before she dismisses him properly.

* * *

The week long summit was productive, multiple treaties and favourable trade agreements benefiting Arendelle resulted from her attendance. Albeit a bit boring, no playful banter with Hans (although he wrote her many, many notes, passing them to her at inappropriate times).

She found herself watching him more than she would admit during the meeting between the various Admirals discussing naval fleet operations – he was obviously the Admiral who seemed to demand the greatest respect and hold the greatest weight in decisions, many commanders yielding to him. He suggested in passing that the following spring the fleets should join for war games before the next summit, which Elsa found…brilliant. She had remained silent until Hans' suggestion, leaning over to whisper quietly in her Admiral's ear and sitting back. The Arendelle Admiral cleared his throat as he looked to her with questioning eyes before shrugging his shoulders and offering, "Her Majesty, Queen Elsa can provide cannon balls and ballistics made of her snow to use in simulation. Ships could fire these in simulated battle without harming or damaging the other vessels or sailors."

Hans beamed a grin as he chuckled, "A nautical snowball fight?"

The other Admirals at the table erupted into laugher as Elsa smirked, Hans shaking his head fondly, "There it is. Make it so."

* * *

Hans kept his word – forcing her to be good as her word. She joined him for a private lunch the last afternoon on a patio overlooking the evergreen gardens (reminding her of home and _ANNA)_. The roast was delicious, as was the port and Spanish chocolate they took for dessert. Their subtle quipping and playful banter deteriorated to an argument over the interpretation of a piece of Plato's work, and Elsa storming off passionately in search of more civilized conversation. Without saying goodbye.

As her Royal Flag Ship set sail, she flopped onto her bed face first cursing him and herself for being sucked into his nonsense. She curled onto her side, wrapping herself into a ball and sighing before her eyes fell upon a red rose laying atop an envelope on her pillows. Her eyes widened, panic settling in her bones as she sat up scrambling for the letter.

_How?_

_Elsa,_

_Thank you for your company and excellent conversation at lunch earlier, and I apologize for upsetting you by being right. You should learn to admit defeat more easily._

_And, forgive me, My Queen, for I have deceived you._

_Our game during the gala - I lied. I hadn't bedded that courtier (it was on my "to do list", but no longer). Please understand, I have a reputation to uphold, and assumptions are everything at court. I couldn't very well have you interfering with my fake reputation. After all, in the Southern Isles, carefully crafted half-truths supporting a false reputation with the fairer sex are all I have._

_But seriously, thank you sincerely for a wonderful week. I shall treasure the memories of our time together. If I may be so bold, I appreciate your friendship more than you could know._

_You have truly grown into a thoughtful and intelligent ruler – Arendelle is fortunate to have you upon her throne. I would encourage you to continue to disregard the whispers and gossip that you need a King by your side to be taken seriously._

_Hans_

"WHAT?!" she shrieked, crumbling the parchment and frosting her bed before she realized what she had done.

Gerda opened the door to her quarters suddenly without knocking, "Your Majesty? Are you okay?"

Elsa glared at the crumpled paper in her hand as she steadied her voice, "It is felt I need a King by my side to be taken seriously?"

Gerda straighten herself, sadness etched in her features as Elsa met her gaze, "Queen Elsa…"

"No. Please be frank, Gerda."

Gerda sighed, "I have heard such gossip from the Arendelle court, but I believe that your visit this week has provided evidence of the contrary. I think this will make its way into our court and attitudes should change over time."

Elsa stared blankly at Gerda, stomach churning, "Oh."

"I'm so sorry, My Queen," Gerda offered.

She shook her head in reply, waving her hand lazily towards the door, "Please. I. I just need some time alone."

"Of course."

The door latch clicked firmly as Elsa let go and cried for the first time in forever.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A nod to Disney's Beauty and the Beast as well as Brave. I recognize they are different timelines, but we'll use our imagination and assume decedents from the original characters are involved (author waving hands vaguely). 
> 
> First part of this chapter is continued "present day" which posted here is chapter 1. Subsequent parts are backstory and still trapped five years ago (evidently it was a busy year, we haven't moved forward that much from last chapter). If this is a format too confusing...jumping back and forth between timeline, feel free to yell at me and I can save it all until the timeline has caught up! :)

Cradled tightly in Hans' arms, Elsa whispers, "I love you."

Suddenly his strong arms loosen their grip on her as he unceremoniously pulls off his white gloves and drops them to the ground beside him, taking her jaw into both of his bare hands – warm palms gently lift her chin, guiding her to look at him and she finds his beautiful green eyes glisten with unshed tears. The pads of his fingers are slightly rough but not unpleasant, she thinks, as he begins tracing the lines of her cheeks and sensitive skin behind her ear. The heat in his fingers ignites a rush of warmth somewhere in her core that has her keening softly as her eyes meet his. Dumbly, all she seems to be able to say is, "I love you."

His smile blooms with her words as he seems to study his hand caressing the flesh of her neck, as if trying to memorize the _feel_ of her. "Good," he confesses almost in amazement of the moment, "because I am hopelessly in love with you."

Her lips part in a timid smile as he carefully draws closer and smears his kiss to her lips, and it's not until they are both breathless and absolutely lost to each other that Elsa breaks from his clever mouth. Her lips part to speak when he beats her to it, a twinge of fear in his voice as he begs, "Please don't. Please…"

Elsa interrupts him, wrapping her cool hands around his wrists to steady him as her eyes dart to Anna and back to him, "I serve my crown and my Kingdom."

" _NO,"_ he tries, voice hopeless yet stern (he and Anna are the only ones who would ever have the gall to reprimand her), "Elsa, this marriage would be simply for dynastic reasons."

She's too bewildered to laugh at how naïve he is being – _Of course. I'm the QUEEN._

There is a smile playing in the corner of her mouth, coy and vague as she repeats by rote, "The marriage treaty was offered to His Majesty, King Adam of France as his younger son, Prince Maurice, was felt to be smartest match available, offering a strong alliance and new ties to Europe that Arendelle has thus far has been unable to secure. Arendelle will remain sovereign and have opportunity for continued peace and prosperity."

Hans releases her face to scoop her possessively into his arms once more, hauling her against his chest. His wet mouth pressing to the tender flesh of her neck, his voice primal and practically a growl as he arrogantly insists, "No. Take me. You don't need France. You need a partner, someone to shoulder the burden who understands where Arendelle has been and shares your vision of where it can go." He shifts her in his arms to drag his bare hand across the delicate skin below her ear, her pulse bounding under his fingertips as he stares unseeing at her lips. His voice is soft and fragile, and she can't take much more of this, "You've shared your dreams and passions and fears with me. I've seen your _soul._ Please don't take that away to give to him. Stop fighting me and just let me love you."

His plea catches her off guard and clouds her mind, her thoughts trying to rearrange into something else.

_Stop fighting me..._

* * *

_Five years earlier, a fortnight after Elsa's return home from the Southern Isles_ …

She'd wasted no time upon her return to throw herself into the affairs of her kingdom. She went to work initiating new approaches to manage and evaluate the needs of Arendelle, identified possible resources that were being underutilized, and ensuring that the irritating Lords, her advisors and council, and her court knew _SHE_ was in charge. And she was thrilled with the overall positive reception she received. There would be punishment for her success, however.

Her nights became fraught by coiling tension setting in her spine, brought on by too much time spent with people - years of being locked away cannot be erased so quickly, the anxiety becoming a painful reminder of her natural preference for seclusion. Her thoughts went spiraling out of control when her eyes drifted shut and abruptly ended in dark and disturbing places, making sleep elusive. Now she was exhausted and yearning for solitude she desired.

"You're hiding," Anna calls singsong through the bedlinens and duvet cover that Elsa has buried herself in as she pretends to be too weary to face the day, her first day _off_ since her return.

Anna's head is rested on the pillow beside her and Elsa can _HEAR_ her maliciously amused smile. Like an epiphany, childhood memories surface of pushing Anna off the bed to get rid of her. And Elsa considers giving her a shove. After all, if she's acting like a five year old…

But that wouldn't be very _queenly._ "No, I'm not," she says instead, annoyance suffuses her voice.

She is.

(Hiding.)

But this is perfectly justifiable. Where else is she to _sulk?_

It turns out Hans was right. Although she is very much beloved by her people, the general consensus is that she is too young, too inexperienced, and too female to be considered independently stable on the throne. Anna had known but made it abundantly clear she did not share such sentiment, and she apologized for never coming out and sharing the terribly unfair gossip, explaining that she thought Elsa was already aware of such opinions. Anna, in her own wonderfully sweet, endearing way that makes Elsa's heart swell with pride at how amazing she is with _everyone,_ made her feel a little better. Anna is absolutely _amazing_.

But not right now.

"You're sulking," Anna says, horribly observant.

Elsa's eyes are screwed shut under the covers, metaphorical blinders on and refusing to face reality for _one day, "Fine._ I'm sulking. So leave me be, woman!"

Anna snickers, and Elsa catches the faint rustling of papers muffled through the covers, "No."

A traitorous thought percolates that if Hans were around she'd enjoy giving _him_ a good shove, she could argue with words and glares and snarling _teeth_ and maybe she wouldn't feel so tightly wound. He's bound not to take offense, or if he did she wouldn't care. He may even give her something further to take her aggravation and urge for aggression out on and fight with (she reasons).

Elsa catches her thoughts, and embarrassingly scolds herself.

Her mind keeps looping back to the fact that he's been the only one to be so bloody honest with her, aside from letting her win their inappropriate game…which strangely benefited her far more than him. And he had been willing to passionately argue without censoring himself when she was wrong, without cautious glances that scream she's too female and too unpredictably emotional and may freeze him or curse the landscape. _And she likes that._ But that also serves to fan the flames of her anger over her situation.

It occurs to her just then that his note was left somewhere on bedside table…

"Hans tells you about his escapades with his Queen Mother's least favourite courtiers?!" Anna gasps suddenly, and Elsa half expects an eternal winter to have suddenly appeared in her bedchamber based on the _COLD_ tone Anna uses.

Elsa peers over her covers at Anna who looks perfectly scandalized, and she can't help the chortle of laughter that accompanies, "He takes immense pride in duping and or frustrating his Queen Mother, and since being essentially banished at sea, the easiest way is to bed the courtier who has irritated her the most. He's not terribly creative, if you ask me."

There is an absolutely appropriate level of disgust in Anna's words as she re-reads the note, "What does that even mean, "It was on my 'to do list', but no longer." He slept with her? He changed his mind to not to? What?!"

Elsa shrugs as she pushes the covers down and resigning herself to the fact Anna isn't going away for now, "You're missing the point, Anna. He's thrown that in there to distract me. I suspect the intention of the note was to tell me I can't admit when I'm wrong and my kingdom thinks I can't rule without a King."

"You were wrong?"

Elsa adores the confused disbelief Anna seems to possess at the moment, however she doesn't want to spell things out for her (the argument with Hans had been quite heated and she had used some very _unqueenly_ words). "Just. Maybe? It's not important, because I am Queen and he is him so I am always right."

Anna's eyebrows raise in agreement as she purses her lips, contemplating the implications of Elsa's last statement (or so Elsa assumes). Silence settles between them and Elsa rolls to her side and cuddles Anna with a sigh.

Anna brings an arm around Elsa, her hand resting on her shoulder as she stares off somewhere and begins to frown, "I don't know how to bring this up with you Elsa, and my timing can't be worse – I know. But. Um…"

Elsa's heart sinks and she can feel the cold tingle in her hands as dread settles. It must be written all over her face because Anna suddenly reassures, "No, no! Nothing like that. I don't think you should get married just to have a King. I mean, unless that is what you want. A King."

All Elsa can hear for a heartbeat is the loud rush of blood deafening her ears over whatever it is Anna is saying. Anna continues rambling without breath and rolls her eyes as she finally spits out, "I want to get married." Anna pauses seriously before clarifying, as if she needed to, "To Kristoff. It's been five years, and I've been trying to wait for you to get married first because the courtiers all say the older sister has to get married first but if you don't want to and it's not going to happen anytime soon then I think it's time for me and maybe this will take some of the pressure off you because the Arendelle court will get to enjoy a Royal Wedding and all that it entails and they can let you worry about running the Kingdom without trying to point out every day how your biological clock is ticking away and our house will lose the thrown without a rightful heir." Anna peers cautiously at Elsa, her eyes full of remorse as she takes a deep breath.

Elsa blinks, startled by how quickly all that came out (and not thinking about the 'biological clock' part, although she's certain that will haunt her later).

_Married._

_Anna married._

_Oh._

_Okay._

Her mind catches up finally and she smile gently, "Of course you may. You have my blessing."

Anna beams brightly, a perfect ray of joy and _happiness._ So amazing and beautiful, and Elsa become selfishly sad she will actually have to _share_ Anna now. But, it will be okay.

"At the end of this summer? Please?"

_Wait. What? In two months?_

Elsa can feel the startled expression affix to her features, betraying her concern.

_Why so soon? Oh. OH!_

Elsa frowns, "Is there something else you need to tell me, Anna?"

Anna's brow furrows, mirroring Elsa's confused expression, "Like what?"

Elsa stares at Anna, looking for a hint of guilt or embarrassment or nausea (or something). She tries to remember correctly if Anna mentioned the word _heir_ in her rambling. And she tries to decipher _why_ before she stops. HORRIFIED at herself.

_Hans has already begun to corrupt me…assuming such scandalous motivations for a marriage such as a possible pregnancy._

Elsa bites her lip and stifles an embarrassed giggle at herself as she sits up to properly embrace Anna, "Never mind. End of summer it is."

* * *

She receives a letter from him before the wedding invitations are sent.

It is a light-hearted, jovial account of his Queen Mother's anger with him for his behaviour during the summit, specifically with Elsa. His Mother was disgusted when she caught word of his antics;

_"Her deceivably calm words were harsh and quite judgmental, and I was thoroughly offended. After all, presuming my interactions with you were unwelcomed! She finds you too kind and too naïve and too polite to 'successfully rid yourself of my presence'. It would seem she sees me as a cad and a manipulator, and evidently no woman of good breeding could stand my company for more than a few moments. Supporting evidence presented included the list of courtiers she is aware of being linked to me…my reputation precedes me with her. Interestingly, my innocent banter, graceful dancing, and exquisite mealtime conversation with you all upset her far more than rumours of my elicit activities over the years. She also failed to appreciate my opinion that you are beautiful, powerful, dangerous, and far from defenceless, or appreciate my astute observation that you could have easily encased me in ice at any time."_

He recounted his punishment, as well; a resulting naval commission from his Father (which sounds nothing like a punishment to Elsa). A deployment to parts of the world to the south and west, somewhere warm and sunny, and Hans writes her tales of islands of golden sand and rum and pirates;

_"Although I fear the sun, my fair complexion and accursed freckles are unable to tolerate much of it, I find myself absurdly thrilled at the prospect of fighting pirates and imbibing in rum. However, I shall endeavour to remain physically intact, so please do not fret for my safety, My Queen. I shall return unharmed, in hopes of one day being graced with your presence once more."_

Elsa's not sure how to feel about all that.

So she doesn't.

* * *

The responses for attendance to the wedding being to arrive, and she hears gossip from the courtiers that Prince Lars and his wife are to be sent as representatives of the Southern Isles. She assumes it is for the best, but in the dark of night when her mind is not subject to her control and works under its own fruition, it is not best and Hans comes.

Elsa tries to put pen to parchment repeatedly over the summer, but is unwilling to see the words scrolled to him at each attempt. Too many things she wants to say won't flow correctly, and too many things she doesn't want to say keep ending up before her and staring at her, judgmentally. So into the fire her letters to him go.

She receives no further word from him, Anna's wedding is celebrated successfully, and autumn arrives.

She fears his silence is the result of hers, or worse, because of pirates.

* * *

Elsa's success during the spring peace summit inspires her counsel to _encourage_ her to accompany her Ambassador to Scotland to meet with Prince Fergus, Lord of DunBroch, to oversee a pivotal trade agreement and peace accord that autumn.

Or perhaps their motivations are something else entirely, as the Royal Wedding caused a sharp upturn in less obvious attempts to provide Elsa formal introductions to eligible suitors.

It is as her Flag ship is being docked in the harbor surrounded by breathtakingly green hills that she steps onto the deck to take in the landscape, the scent of salty ocean and grass welcoming her with the misty breeze. She shifts her gaze to the harbour, noticing a warship of some sort has made berth as well. It sits proudly flying a flag with the Southern Isles crest and livery, whipping in the sharp gust of the autumn breeze. Below it flutters a cream banner with a red passant lion wearing a yellow crown and XIII.

_HIS._

Hans' lead ship.

She exhales sharply, breath stolen by her surprise. Her shoulders roll forward and her arms cross tightly across her stomach as she whispers to herself, "He's here?"

Her eyes narrow slightly as she studies the crew topside aboard the ship, unsuccessfully looking for a flash of red hair while she tries to decide if the frantic fluttering of her heart is because she is upset or thrilled (or indifferent- yes, indifferent, she hopes) at his possible presence. The cool ocean breeze blows tendrils of blonde free from the confines of her elaborate plait, tickling her cheeks and neck as she inhales slowly, deciding what she feels _must_ be indifferent.

Yes.

With _indifference,_ she watches the bustling activity aboard the Southern Isles ship. Regardless of the commotion and hurried work of the sailors, she's noticed quickly and the previously noisy activity and gregarious songs being sung quiet. She loosens her arms and pulls herself into formal lines, consciously steadying the rise and fall of her chest (and _does not_ hope Hans is alerted to her presence).

"Your Majesty," Kai calls respectfully, bringing her attention to him as he stops and stands beside her, "We are ready." Her gangplank has been prepared and her staff begin to disembark, announcing her arrival and she resigns herself to following dutifully. "Kai, is that one of Prince Hans' vessels?" she asks discretely, hoping the perhaps she is completely off.

Kai continues his march before her, chin shifting over his shoulder in her direction, "Yes, Ma'am, I believe it is. I overheard one of our sailors' mention that the starboard side appears to have sustained significant damage recently and observed repairs were underway, almost completed." Her head snaps back over to his ship, one last glance proves fruitless in spotting him, so she sighs with a slight frown as Prince Fergus' steward greets her with a formal procession and escorts her to an awaiting carriage.

The reason for his silence has become clear...


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Still trapped five years earlier...picking up where we left off last chapter.

* * *

Days filled with nothing but sea and sky have left Elsa oddly restless, feeling like a caged animal as she stares out the window of her guest chambers at the castle, admiring the Scottish landscape. She has an inexplicit desire to lose herself among snow covered trees…but such longings must be denied. Mostly because those wants and desires also include a fair prince on horseback charging to her side and to save her from herself. And she can't want that. So instead, her guards fall in step behind her as she sets out to work off the anxious tension with fresh air and feet on terra firma.

She's tasked herself with trying to get a sense of who Prince Fergus IV is and the opportunities that Scotland may hold for Arendelle before the opening feast that evening (aside from what her Ambassador has shared). She's passed by many paintings of the Royal House along the guest wing walls, the majority of them red-haired. Evidently the Prince's name is centuries old, named for the Bear King who united Scotland under attacks from the Northern Kingdom - Arendelle being the instigator. Her Ambassador explained that her presence for signing the treaty would be a "symbolic gesture of good will". So her walk is with purpose - but it's mostly just to keep her mind of the fact _HE_ is here.

She rounds a corner, ears perking at the sound of metal clashing with intention, accompanied by deep shouts and boisterous laughter. Her feet follow the noise until she stumbles across a large enclosed garden, a vast open space like a yard with green grass and evergreen hedges lining the walls, ivy climbing to the sky. The afternoon sun has burned through the mist from earlier and brightens the space like lights on a stage, illuminating the players: two men locked in combat with sabres, both with heads aflame with red locks and both bare chested, covered in sweat. A crowd of kilts and naval uniforms shout inappropriate remarks and observations at the warriors as they engage in a dangerous dance with steel and force.

_OH MY!_

Elsa's eyes blow wide as heart does some sort of awful flip-flop thing that causes euphoria to curl at the base of her spine. She can feel a hot blush booming across her cheeks as her lips part in awe of what she's discovered.

_Hans._

He's on-guard as he shouts with calm authority, every syllable carefully controlled as he parries elegantly with strength and thought, "NO! Fergus! Think tactics, timing and adrenaline!"

Elsa is absolutely mesmerized at the sight before her, shamelessly sinking her teeth into her lower lip without thinking as she watches the corded muscles of Hans' broad shoulders and powerful arms as they flex and roll, his hair still longer and tied at the base of his neck, loose hairs escaping with the fight…Hans' precision is absolute _perfection;_ like a strike of lightning he ripostes the goliath in a kilt. Prince Fergus is likely double Hans' weight and a good head taller, yet the Scotsman struggles for control as they spar. He clumsily attempts to deflect the thrust, stumbling with a broad smile and contagious laughter that has Elsa grinning stupidly.

"Aye! Enough of this, Hans! Let's go toss cabers instead for a bottle of your Caribbean rum!" Fergus shouts back with animated arms, irritation exaggerated as he chuckles gregariously.

Hans's grin is sharp and knowing, "I cannot best you in strength, Fergus – that's obvious, and thus I must politely decline." There is an uproar in laughter at Hans as he continues, "So do you yield to the Southern Isles? You're ready to forfeit your seventy-five year old scotch?"

Fergus' booming laughter fills the yard, "What? To you?" His accent thickens as he raises his voice an octave and pretends to flip his hair daintily, "With your lovely flowing locks?" His voice deepens to its natural timbre, filled with a conviction that contradicts his jovial smile, "Never!"

Elsa suddenly chortles, drawing the entire yard's attention to her with deafening silence. The fingertips of her hand cover her lips like a reflex, hiding her surprised gasp and she is mortified.

She's been caught.

Before she can offer her silent prayers for something to fall from the sky and strike her dead, the yard of men begin to bow, kilts dropping to knees and uniforms folding formally in her direction. Words such as, _"Your Majesty…"_ and _"My Queen…"_ quickly fill the still air.

_Except from him._

Hans' eyes blow just as wide as hers as delight dances across his features, blushing bright red as her name escapes his lips - she's taken back by how _wonderful_ it sounds. She can't seem to stop her adulterous eyes from lowering momentarily to take in his half-nude form (her subconscious no doubt filing that image away for use in the dark of night when she can't stop it) and her smile suddenly drops.

His left chest is bandaged, wrapped tightly.

_He's hurt?_

Hans pulls himself to attention after nodding (not really a bow), the glint in his eye telling her he did that on purpose (his quasi-bow), as if he can never seem do as she tells him. Someone throws his shirt to him to shrug on quickly, his posture shifting as he turns back to her. There is a challenge in his eyes as his sabre lowers to rest at his side and his lips twitch, resisting a grin.

Her feet propel her forward into the thick of men, humour lost from her eyes and she stops before Hans, forgetting entirely how she stormed away furiously from him the last time she saw him. He seems to sense her concern, his own gaze begins to search her for clues regarding her worry. She's unable to overt her eyes from his chest of wrapped bandages now hidden by the thick linen of his shirt. "You lied," she whispers deflated as she raises timid fingertips to touch his chest before she can catch herself, curling them tenderly across the fabric of his shirt before dropping her hand quickly.

"I lie about a lot of thing, My Queen. To which are you eluding to?" his voice very soft, reassuring affection twisted in his words. As if he is genuinely comforting her (she'll decide later she can't need that).

For the life of her she can't keep the hushed words from escaping, regardless of how badly she wants them to _STOP,_ "Unharmed. You promised you'd return unharmed."

Confusion flashes as his free hand raises to cover his chest where her fingertip had touched as he leans in, practically a breath away. "This?" he whispers.

_Good grief he's daft…No Hans, not the bandaged chest – that's perfectly normal, I'm sure._

Elsa realizes she's just staring now, irritation replacing the concern as she rambles sarcastically in her own head (sarcasm is behaviour unfitting a Queen and she has an audience at the moment, thus she must play the part. It is absolutely not for Hans' benefit she holds her tongue.)

"I explained in my letters," he says gently.

"I received no letters, aside from the one telling me your father had commissioned you to deploy southward."

Hans straightens, his eyes wide and searching her then the space between them as something like realization sets his jaw tightly. "Oh. Of course," he frowns.

_Of course?_

Hans implores quietly, "May I have some of your time later, to explain properly?"

Elsa is terribly curious and can feel the twist of anticipation in her gut at the intrigue he's presented to her, but she isn't going to let him know that just yet. Not with an audience. She presses her lips flat before she decides with a bored sigh, "Later."

* * *

"Later" is difficult to quantify.

Evidently this time, later is after ten days of her patience wearing thin…the occasional heated rhetoric between her and Prince Fergus has left her tightly wound and looking for release. There would absolutely be _NO_ possibly of considering a courtship with Prince Fergus – they can't agree upon a tariff, let alone share a meal without her cringing (she's disgusted by the way he feeds his hunting dogs from his plate, dog tongues lapping up torn bits of meat right off his fingers). And since there would be no appeasing the Arendelle court with a Scottish Prince as a suitor for their Queen, she's determined not to return empty handed, without what she wants for Arendelle put to paper and his signature below hers. And she's been so good, denying herself the luxury of seeking Hans out, to satisfy something she doesn't understand. Because she promised herself "later".

Later is suddenly now, she decides as she exits the dining hall, the sounds of barking hounds growing fainter as her feet carry her towards the guest wing.

He's been scarce during her visit, overseeing final work-ups for getting underway again and confirming that yes, his ship is indeed sea-worthy. She's only caught bits and pieces of stories (she's here for that bull-headed Scotsman and a treaty that she's about ready to rip in half and throw back at him). Evidently there were pirates and battles and him practically sinking his lead ship because, in his words, he was _"…too stubborn to back down"._ She didn't appreciate the pointed stare at her as he said it.

She's suddenly at Hans' door, not remembering how she got there with her hand poised to knock with a flick of her wrist. It's now or never, and she briefly ponders the possibility of never before she realizes she needs to do something so she can stop feeling a breath away from an ice storm. She stares at the door as a pleasant excitement flutters in her stomach, steadying herself to tap knuckles to wood –

"Is it later, My Queen?"

His door is suddenly transformed into a treacherously jagged sheet of ice as adrenaline _races,_ causing her to shriek and whip around to face Hans, clutching her hands protectively to her chest.

It only takes a moment for her mind to process that it's likely he takes pleasure in her loss of control.

Hans is grinning madly at her, childishly giggling as his eyes dart over her head to his door. "I suppose we won't be entering my chambers, My Queen," he sighs as his grin widens, eyes falling back to her as he gently takes one of her hands in between his gloved hands, "I'm terribly sorry, Elsa. I couldn't resist." She stares flatly at him as he continues, "I love your reaction, however."

She opens her mouth to protest, but clicks it shut as she realizes she _needs_ this. Someone safe to fight with. So instead she gives him a hard shove with her free hand, forcing a loud laugh from him as she makes contact with his shoulder.

"Tsk, tsk. Very improper behaviour, Your Majesty," he reprimands while guiding her arm into his as he leads her away. Elsa smiles at the strangely wonderful thought that she sees him as _someone safe to fight with_ , "You do realize, there will be consequences, dear Prince."

"There always are," he says happily as he raises his chin to pass her guards and continue onward down the hall and into a richly appointed study. It is lined with shelves of leather bound tomes and there is a roaring fireplace already ablaze with an oversized davenport centred before it. He leads her to the davenport and releases her, continuing onward to a liquor cabinet in the corner of the room and begins rummaging around before selecting a decanter to pour an amber liquid from into a pair of crystal lowballs. "You've had scotch whiskey before, My Queen?"

Elsa glances over her shoulder at him, "No."

"There is a wonderfully smooth burn to it for the first few sips," he muses, handing her a tumbler. "Cheers."

She stares into the crystal lowball for a moment before raising it to clink, "Cheers."

He watches her intently as she takes a sip from the crystal, she cringes and her voice becomes hoarse, "Whoa – that. Oh. Burn is the right word for it."

He chuckles, "Too strong?"

She likes this. His challenges, the way he treats her as an equal – _no one does this._

Except Anna.

And him.

Elsa rolls her eyes at the thought she will have to explain this to Anna and takes another sip, fighting to keep it down and her expression neutral, "No. But I prefer something colder." She conjures an ice snowflake, perfectly proportioned to fit inside the crystal lowball.

His eyes widen, "That's a brilliant idea. May I have one? Any shape you'd like, but I'd prefer a frigate."

She smiles coyly, waving her fingers at his crystal tumbler to conjure a tiny replica of her Royal Flag ship.

The booming melody of his awe fills the room as he becomes mesmerized by the ice ship in his drink, "Even better. Is there a tiny Elsa in there?"

She smirks, "Use your imagination."

He regards her with amusement as he sits at one end of the davenport, motioning for her to be seated, "So you haven't received any of my letters since my deployment?"

"No."

His frown returns as he watches her icy ship in his drink, his silence making her overly aware of the fact she's still standing after he's made himself comfortable (no manners what-so-ever). She take another slip, this time it goes down with less _burn_ and more _smooth_ , so she decides she likes it and sits at the other end of the davenport and waits for him to respond. His eyes flick back to her finally, "Had you written me?"

"No. I tried many times, but I was never able to get onto parchment what I wanted to say. As the weeks went by, I received no further word from you so I assumed you were waiting for me to reply and it became harder and harder until I stopped trying to write. Then Anna's wedding was celebrated and it became impossible."

She sees no point to lying, after all, she's smiled and laughed and _touched_ him all in the last few minutes…not to mention she's siting privately with him imbibing in the daemon spirit, as her Bishop would say.

"Ah," he sighs as he looks at her hands holding her lowball, then to the fire. "She sent me to the Caribbean to control my correspondence with you."

Elsa can feel her brow furrow, "Excuse me? I'm not following."

He smiles without humour as their eyes meet, "My Mother. All letters with a Southern Isles seal are processed through official channels which means it's controlled by the Crown. My parents have never expressed interest with whom I corresponded with in the past. I mean, I assume the content of the letter were screened from time to time, but in general I was seen as relatively benign and subsequently ignored." His jaw clenches before he empties his lowball, leaving her tiny ship without a whiskey sea, "Being so far, letter take months to transit. She knew I was writing you, with no response. It would seem our friendship is a threat to her. Or she has something to gain by interfering."

Elsa is dumbfounded, unsure of how to respond. Unsure how to feel about the _friendship_ or the _threat_ part.

So she take a sip of her drink, staring down into the crystal and watching the snowflake reflect the glittering light from the fire. Silence blooms around them, the faint whine and crackle of the logs in the fire interrupting from time to time and before she realizes it, her lowball is empty and he's refilling it.

She accepts it with a giggle, Hans quirking a questioning eyebrow at her. She smiles, "I can't feel my fingertips."

"Have I ever told you that you're my favourite Queen?" he breathes with a chuckle.

Elsa laughs at that odd confession, "How many do you know personally, besides your Queen Mother and myself?"

He huffs a laugh as he sits back down, this time beside her. His head drops to the back of the davenport as he stares at the ceiling, "Touché." He sighs as he lifts his head, taking a sip and dropping it back, "I revise my previous statement. You're just my favourite."

"Favourite what?"

"Everything." Her eyes dart to him and he's still staring at the ceiling and not at her.

This is something she doesn't want to talk about. Something that feels too intimate and too forbidden and something she _wants,_ so she doesn't. Instead she teases him about his silver tongue and honeyed words.

Eventually she manages, "How were you hurt? Your chest?"

"Self-inflicted," he replies simply, resting his crystal glass to his left chest and dropping his head to the side to look at her.

Her fuzzy mind races after the implications of his word but can't seem to settle on anything or understand his meaning. Dark thoughts surface of a time when she was under such a cloud of depression she believed that Anna and her Kingdom would be better off without her, hopeless and wanting nothing more than to sleep eternally. She would never acted upon it, though. She frowns at the memory as she becomes horrified he would, "Hans, why would do that? Try to take your life?"

He smiles sheepishly as he confesses, "Oh. No, Elsa – nothing like that. I really wish you had received my letters. This was so much less awkward on parchment when I didn't have to see your upset expression."

Her lips pull slightly in something like relief, "I can appreciate the draw to using our letters as confessional, I fear I poured too much of my unfiltered thoughts into my correspondence with you." The scotch hasn't helped – it only seems to lower her inhibitions and push her closer to her instincts of _stupid._

He wets his lips with a huff as he takes a short sip of the whiskey. Finally he murmurs, "It isn't an injury, Elsa. It's tattoo that's healing. It's my way of making penance to you and Anna, to serve as a reminder of what I must never become again."

"What?"

Her breath catches as his voice practically caresses over her with his reply, "A snowflake. As best I can remember, your snowflake. A reminder that I once had a hardened, frozen heart and must never…" he pauses as his eyes flutter closed. "I'm sorry. I failed to demonstrate _noblesse oblige,_ or compassion." He wets his lips again and begins again, "Just, I know you forgave me years ago, but I never actually said those words to you or to Anna. I'm so sorry."

Her visit with him in the Arendelle dungeon comes to mind, his confusion regarding her forgiveness then his blasted attempt to flirt with her. Her lips quirk at that, how inappropriate it was and she really should have known better than to get herself in this situation. So she decides to follow suit _(Anna will be livid and Elsa will end up blaming the scotch whiskey)_.

"Thank you. You are truly too…. _magnanimous,"_ she purrs seductively.

Hans' eyes fly open with his surprised laughter, causing her to erupt into a fit of much undignified giggles.

Their laughter calms and as Elsa studies his profile she decides the warm buzz of the scotch has loosened her tongue far too much. She's finding it oddly comfortable (and not unsettling) that she's sitting beside the man who once raised a blade to her with the intent of ending her life so he could rule her kingdom, encouraging him to share with her his thoughts, "How did we get to this point, Hans?"

"Once upon a time, there was an ethereally beautiful Princess with magical powers to control ice and snow, who was truly magnanimous." He cracks opens an eye at her with a smirk as she pokes him hard in his side. "Oh. Is that not what you meant?"

Her lips part with her soft laugh, "I suppose it is." Elsa heart flutters fiercely against her rib cage when Hans stands and offers his hand to her, his gaze intense yet soft as he leans closer watching her lips and she can feel some sort of terribly wonderful _desire. HE'S GOING TO KISS ME_ and she has to stop. She stares at her hand in his, eyes startled wide (she doesn't recall placing it in his gloved hand). She whispers, "No."

Confusion creases his brow, "No?"

Elsa pulls herself tall and rigid, her voice still a whisper, "No."

"I don't understand."

"No," ghosts from her lips as she wets them again, now staring at his confused smile.

He stand silently for a heartbeat as he regards her, "It's late, My Queen. May I escort you to your chambers?"

_Okay._

She stands, nodding dumbly as she realizes she can't really feel her toes, either. Hans notices her swaying steps as he guides her around the davenport and chuckles, "Your listing, Your Majesty."

Her mouth quirks, feeling cruel (Anna would approve of cruel and absolutely not approve of amorous) remembering how he found her earlier in the evening, "I'm not sure what you are implying, but I suspect I don't like it. I think I shall leave your door frozen for the night and you can go sleep on your ship. As it _lists._ "

She did.

And he slept on his ship.

* * *

Her visit successfully came to a closure, she was never so relieved.

Hans' ship had another week of preparations before getting underway, so he saw her off with a reverent press of his lips to the back her hand. She found herself promising to write and offered excited sentiments regarding the peace summit and war games in the spring. Hans smile was sad and genuine and everything she wanted (but didn't) as she set sail. As Scotland faded away, she returned to her quarters and found on her pillow his letter and a small vial of golden sand.

_How?_

She left the letter untouched as she sat in the center of her bed, studying the feel of the sand in her hand and imagining him on a beach collecting it.

And wondering what she was going to tell Anna. Or herself.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of this chapter is "present day" on the balcony, following sections resume the backstory.

* * *

* * *

 

The bell tower clock begins to toll the hour, the gongs slowly resonating in the warm night air and cueing the time for her bitter departure.

Her eyes lock with his, her skin _singing_ for his touch as her mind goes blank, lost in his caress.

But she hears the bells and knows what they mean.

"I have to go," Elsa whispers in disbelief that the words spoken are her own. Burning tears begin to pool as she watched the muted horror set in Hans's eyes and a hot wave of terror crashes over her, leaving her nauseous and weak and _this can't be happening._

Petite hands gently pull her from his embrace with far more remorse than Elsa could have ever anticipated as apologetic and kind words attempt to reassure Hans, _"It'll be okay…just give her to me, Hans."_

Elsa can sense the escalating panic swirling inside as she shakes her head, "No."

"It can't happen like this," Anna whispers in her ear before kissing her cheek. "You know that. Please, Elsa," she urges, "Come with me."

Hans' lips capture hers as she sobs, the kiss wet and sloppy and _goodbye._ Eventually a groan of resignation rumbles from his throat as he finally releases Elsa to Anna's charge. "Take care of her, Anna," he says defeated.

_This can't be happening…_

Her hands are trembling with the freeze inside tears at her _bones,_ begging for release as she curls her hands protectively to her chest, fearful of the barely controlled power she possesses (an Eternal Winter level storm clawing at her, desperate to level the Kingdom).

"Shhh…" arms twist around her frame, tucking her head tenderly against Anna's shoulder before there is a loving press of lips to her temple as she is led her away, "It'll be okay, Elsa." Anna manages as she encourages Elsa along, albeit almost lifelessly.

_This can't be happening…_

It's like a terrible dream - one that you possess the awareness of your surroundings and understand what is happening. but are helpless to control.

She hears Hans calling softly to her, his voice struggling to remain steady with his desperate rush of words, "Please, I - I shall always love you, Elsa."

Her strangled sob is all she has to offer for reply as snowflakes begin fluttering in her wake as she enters the castle.

It wasn't supposed to be this hard to walk away.

* * *

**_Four years earlier..._ **

"No."

"Try again," Elsa sighs.

Anna looks at Elsa dully, "No."

Elsa finally pauses, looking up from her paperwork at Anna pacing the rug before her, in a sour mood. And Elsa had no idea why (honestly). Wonderfully-sweet-and-kind-and-gregariously funny-and-downright-AMAZING _-_ Anna has been secretly replaced by foul-disposition-and-I-will-have-my-way-Anna. As of the last few days, she's been all out of sorts and Elsa's patience (as well as Kristoff's, but that's not the point) is beginning to wear thin with the rather dramatic moodiness.

"N-O. NO. _No_ , _no, no_."

Elsa's lips part with her breath, pausing to decide upon the right words to deescalate the latest _tantrum,_ "I can't say ' _NO'_ to the Southern Isles. Or rather, I won't say _'No'_ to the Southern Isles."

_(She decided years ago that what she CAN and CAN'T do differ greatly from what she WILL or WON'T do.)_

"It's a peace summit," she continues, "the war games serve as an opportunity to demonstrate good will and facilitate a greater understanding of the potential benefits and challenges that result from the collaboration of military forces between kingdoms." Elsa tries to keep her voice encouraging, not irritated. Unlike the conversation that was had last night at dinner.

(Anna accused Elsa of ruining her appetite and ended up retiring to bed early regardless of Elsa's apologies for her _unfounded_ irritation. And make no mistake, Elsa's irritation had a firm foundation of fact to support it, but she was trying to appease Anna – Kristoff simply rose quietly to follow, shrugging sheepishly to Elsa with apologetic eyes as he muttered under his breath, "Here we go again. I got her.")

Anna plops herself into the nearby chair as she huffs, "You're the hosting _QUEEN_. You can do whatever you want."

Elsa suspects Anna had been suppressing her objections to Hans' potential return to Arendelle for _months_ , but why she's decided now was the time to fuss about it, she can't understand. She watches Anna, trying to decipher her behavior and feeling ridiculously daft for being unable to. Since her coronation, she has struggled repeatedly to dissect and understand the behavior of others, a painful reminder of years raised in solitude.

(Whispers from the courtiers are that she's too cold and proud, a stony aloof woman who can be too harsh and _frozen…'No wonder no man has come to court her yet, who would want an Ice-Queen?')_

She sits back in her chair, hands folding carefully across her stomach as she offers quietly, "I can't do whatever I want; I can only do what is in the best interest of Arendelle. I serve my kingdom and my crown, not the other way around."

She glances up at Anna who looks quite exasperated, but at least she seems to be listening. "And the summit will be upon us in a month. There is no way they could reasonably substitute their commanding Fleet Admiral so quickly, not when all of the strategic planning has been done by Admiral Westergård."

"His name is Hans."

"And his title in this situation is Admiral Westergård."

Anna gives her a hard stare, "You want him here."

(She does – and in the way Anna means, too. He's resumed _lurking_ about her dreams at night causing her to awake with a pleasant rush of warmth in her core that has her terribly confused and embarrassed because _she likes it_. And she's a little scared because it leaves her wanting _more._ But there is no way she's telling Anna that part.)

"He's the most respected Admiral at sea today. He's successfully collaborated with many other Kingdoms in battle, never taking over the fight but playing a supporting role in the victory. Admiral Westergård is an enormous asset to The Southern Isles and to the region at large. He's become an amazing leader and the _MOST IMPORTANT_ Fleet Admiral of our time, despite his age."

Anna narrows her eyes at Elsa as she take a breath, but doesn't say anything.

"Okay, Anna. Why shouldn't I want him here?" Elsa tries gently.

"What if he tries to kiss you again?"

_AH._

Elsa essentially cursed herself by telling Anna _EVERYTHING_ from her trip to Scotland. It was only _AFTER_ she spilled her secrets she realized the possible value of holding things back unless asked directly. She's not sure that would ever help, since she promised no secrets and she intends to honour that.

"Then I will tell him ' _NO'_ , as I did before. I think I can handling him," she replies flatly.

Anna's look was just as flat.

Elsa decides she's slightly offended at what Anna's seems to be implying, "What? You don't think I can handle Hans?"

"No, it's not that. You're not listening to your _Most Important One!_ That's what!"

A dull throb at the base of her neck begins to invade her head, the tension threating to pull and _stab._ Her hands raise to press cold fingers to her forehead, trying to chase strain away. Elsa sighs, "Anna, I am listening to you. I am also trying to understand your reasons."

The awkward silence grows as Anna crosses her arms tightly to her chest, "He's a bad influence on you – he gave you scotch whiskey and you didn't have enough sense to refuse!"

Elsa blinks, "Excuse me? I'm not following."

Anna rolls her eyes and unfolds her arms as she sits properly, crossing her ankles and adjusting her posture perfectly, " _Ladies_ of good breeding do not imbibe in liquor. Nor do they sit unchaperoned in the company of man."

_Good Lord, which courtier must I thank for this pearl of wisdom?_

Elsa can't seem to suppress the haughty tone (or expression) that accompanies, "I'm not a lady. _I'm a QUEEN."_

She immediately regrets it, as Anna give her a disapproving scowl. (Whispers curl in her ears, ' _Nothing but a Frigid Ice Queen…')_

"Anna, what I mean is that if I am to be successful as a _Queen_ , I can't be expected to behave and act in accordance with the same social standards as the ladies of the court. I find myself frequently challenged to interact with men who see me as nothing more than a delicate young woman incapable of existing in the world independently, let alone as an equal who demands the same respect and rights they do. Never mind the fact I am the sovereign ruler of Arendelle - I am generally seen only as a woman, and not taken seriously."

Elsa leans forward to rest her forearms on her desk, eyes dropping to the bit of legislation she has been working on as her fingertips being to draw feathered lines across her words on the parchment. She falls silent as she re-reads her last amendment, something she finds thoughtful and fair and causes her lips to pull with sad pride, "I want to prove that I can rule my Kingdom with intelligence, compassion, and grace. I want my period of independent reign to reflect forward thinking, one that fosters the development of political and cultural change, as well as usher in a scientific and industrial revolution for Arendelle. "

"And drinking scotch alone with a cad helps you do that?"

Elsa chuckles.

_Good grief I love you, Anna._

"I understand others may disagree." She looks up and meets Anna's gaze, "For example, you challenge me. You question and hold me accountable. You treat me as an equal, and I like that. No improvement can be made without a questioning attitude and facilitating change. When I have to make my way in politics, which is a male dominated profession, being treated no differently than a _King_ make me feel as if I am doing the right thing. And a man would offer a _King_ a drink like scotch, not a cup of tea."

The huff of disagreement that escapes from Anna twists with a snort, "You are crazy."

She stares unseeing at Anna before adding quietly, "Hans challenges me. He questions and holds me accountable in the same way I would expect him to if I were a King and not a Queen."

Anna sighs, "The liquor has pickled your brain."

Unsure of what else to say (that won't get her in trouble), Elsa sighs sadly, "I will defer the decision to you, _My Most Important One."_

Eventually Anna concedes with a huff, "Fine. He can come." She sits up straighter, putting on an authoritative air, "But there are rules."

Relief and confusion set themselves in Elsa's chest, "Rules?"

"And if either of you refuse to abide by them, he may not disembark his ship and set foot on our soil."

Elsa's eyebrows raise questioningly.

"I will tell them to you. It'll be a verbal agreement, if you will. And I'll write to him."

A smile threatens Elsa's features, adoring her sister…bossy Anna can be the best. She has everybody else fooled into thinking she's got no mind for rule, but she does. And she's quick. And _vicious at times._

"Rules?" Elsa echoes.

_(The problem is that Anna is inexperienced. She doesn't always anticipate the possible pitfalls or flaws in logic, especially when she's emotional.)_

* * *

"You're absolutely incorrigible, you know that?"

Hans blinks innocently, a baffled expression settles in his features, "How so?"

"You're not to start a conversation with me. Rule one."

He leans in, the hint of soap and spice overwhelming her and she can't help but think the scent suits him. "Forgive me for splitting hairs," he begins, "but you opened the conversation, My Queen, by voicing your astute observation that I am incorrigible," he says pleasantly, obviously pleased with himself.

Elsa raises her chin as her eyes drop to his hands which hold crystal flutes before snapping up to meet his gaze, "You're going to get us in trouble."

"You look dehydrated, and that's dangerous. I'm simply looking out for the best interests of Arendelle. I have a vested interest in ensuring that Arendelle's Queen remains on the throne, as she has been such a stanch supporter of mine over the years. As well as a good friend." With a charismatic grin he steps closer to her as she stands on the dais at the front of the ballroom, the private gala for the attending military officers for the war games in full swing – a sea of military uniforms and ball gowns twirling across the floor.

_Good Lord, what is wrong with me that I adore this man?_

Elsa smiles at him and she can't seem to resist the wonderful euphoria that settle inside when she is with him. So she elects not to, "I am quite parched, thank you for noticing," she smiles demurely. "And I fear I may become faint should I not have a cool, refreshing beverage at this time," she manages with sincere wide eyes.

" _No drinking."_ Hans' lips quirk as he passes her a flute of champagne, "That's simply incompatible with life. Obviously you didn't offer Anna any assistance with ensuring there were no loop holes, because that is a ridiculous rule. I'm actually disappointed she didn't catch that."

"She wrote you herself and didn't offer me the opportunity to contribute my thoughts." Elsa sighs as glances into the crystal, beginning to associate champagne with the man beside her, "And she meant alcohol. No drinking _alcohol._ "

"Of course she did, but that's not what she wrote. And I have her rules right here," he says proudly, patting the pocket of his waistcoat.

Elsa snorts, "You brought them?"

Hans pulls himself tall and stoic, "Yes. I could tell she was very serious, so I am taking them to heart and ensuring I follow them to the _letter."_

Elsa fights the bubbling laughter that is trying to escape her throat, the man is _impossible_ and she can't help the growing sympathy she has for his Lady Mother (although she really doesn't appreciate her meddling).

Elsa raises her flute to clink with his, a conspiratory smile gracing her lips. Before she can taste the champagne, Anna swoops in from out of nowhere and snatches her flute from her hand, "NO."

Hans laughs and take a sip from his untouched crystal.

Anna turns a cold shoulder to him as she declares, "He goes back to his ship."

(She might as well been announcing, " _Off with his head!"_ )

"No, that rule can't be honoured!" Elsa says, eyes wide and imploring, although she may be overdoing it, just a touch. Elsa is actually startled by how quickly she manages to essentially _violate_ Hans as she retrieves his copy of Anna's rules, his arms lifting awkwardly to accommodate her wandering fingers that are searching his waistcoat pocket. He grins stupidly with pink ears at Anna as he is practically molested in public by the Snow Queen of Arendelle, but likely adoring the odd familiarity between them.

Anna glares at him.

Elsa huffs triumphantly as she unfolds the letter and reiterates Hans' absurd interpretation of rule number five (but making it her own), finishing her argument with, "I don't wish to succumb to dehydration."

Now Anna glares at _HER_.

"We talked, Elsa. You understood perfectly what that rule was to prevent."

(Stupid. It was to prevent _STUPID_. Because too many stories over the years have involved _alcohol_ and _Hans_ and **_stupidity_** on her part. Evidently Anna's intention was to control the one factor she could.)

Hans interrupts, "But I didn't. Could you enlighten me?"

If looks could kill, Anna would be standing trial for murder tomorrow. She grabs Hans' champagne flute from his hand and thrusts the two drinks at Elsa, "Excuse us, won't you? Hans owes me a dance," Anna says sweetly.

With that, she pulls a startled Prince Hans into the crowded ballroom floor and away from Elsa. And Elsa can't even object, as that would require making sound. Her jaw drops at the sight, Hans wearing an alarmed expression and darting pleading eyes to Elsa – while dancing with a strangely calm Anna.

"Oh…" she manages finally, noticing Kristoff beating a path to her side. He looks at the champagne in her hands before catching a glance at Anna, his shoulders raising in confusion, "What happened?"

"I have no idea!" she whispers frantically, although amused. She offers Kristoff a glass of champagne as she giggles, "However, I confess I'm enjoying Hans' total loss of control regarding the situation."

Kristoff smirks as he takes a sip, eyes glued to his wife. "She's been so moody lately. But maybe she's always been like this I didn't know because I didn't live with her. Either way, I'm glad he's on the receiving end of it."

Elsa shakes her head, "I'm slightly concerned, although it may be unwarranted. And she hasn't always been this sensitive…it's new."

Kristoff bites his lip, as he stares into his drink. He quickly finishes it, "I'm going to go cut in."

"That may be best."

(Elsa never asked what was spoken during their dance – Anna once eluded to a threatening yet _forgiving_ conversation. Whatever that meant.)

* * *

It would be days later that the final naval skirmish of war games took place, just before the start of the summit (revealing Elsa's true colours).

.

.

.

Hans stormed after her down the pier, causing sailors to pause their work to watch the illustriously decorated Southern Isles Fleet Admiral chase after the Arendelle Snow Queen.

"Your actions were unsafe, unprofessional, and a flagrant disregard of international rules of maritime engagement."

(What she hears is, " _You're a poor sport. You did that on purpose!"_ )

She won't bother to turn to face him. Instead she throws over her shoulder, "Excuse me?"

"You almost sunk my ship!"

Elsa sighs, unimpressed with the passion in his voice yet not breaking her stride, "But I didn't." Her eyes are fixed firmly in front of her, refusing to look at him.

But she did. (Almost sink his ship.)

Her Admiral made a horrible tactical error, exposing the weakness in his strategy at the start of the battle. She watched with irritation until she couldn't stand it any longer. _I'm not losing to HIM on the last day…I will win,_ is all she could think – so she deposited an inappropriate amount of snow upon the deck of Hans' lead ship.

She watched it shift under the weight of her distraction before she realized what she had done, quickly returning her snow to where ever it comes from and causing the proud warship to shift dangerously with the rapid change in weight and buoyancy.

She realized her mistake at Anna's shocked gasp, " _Elsa? What have you done?"_

And it supported her next thought.

_I'm going to be in so much trouble…_

She practically sunk his ship, after all. (But she's too proud and too stubborn to admit to that to him.)

They are at the courtyard of the castle before he throws at her, "You're behaving like an obstinate child!"

_Oh, that stops her._

She whips around, eyes dark and voice low, "How dare you address me in such a manner."

As the words escape her lips, she looks at him.

Actually looks at him.

And she is slightly startled by the look of confusion and disappointment on his face, not _anger._ Not a hint of the fury she expects. She tries to hang tightly onto her frustration and need for dominance but finds them washed away by something akin to _remorse._

"I mean no disrespect, My Queen," Hans' eyes are wide and searching and his voice full of forgiveness as he gently takes her hand. Like he expected this or it was his fault somehow and he just wants to make it right. She lets him, unable to process what exactly is happening…and it's all unfolding before various military leaders and commanders. Hans pulls himself tall and folds her arm into his with nothing but respect and dignity, leading her into the castle silently.

Her anger seems to melt away at his touch as an odd sense of comfort overtakes her.

_Oh._

Elsa can _feel_ eyes watching them intently as they pass through the brightly lit corridors, afternoon sun streaming in and marking patterns upon the parquet floors until eventually they stop and enter a blue drawing room, one overlooking the harbour. He releases her arm as he closes the door quietly.

The room is still and silent as he begins, "Elsa…"

She's wrapped her arms around herself, holding tightly to elbows and feeling _cold_ at the loss of him at her side (she always thought the cold never bothered her). Her heart bounds at the sound of her name on his lips mixed with her lingering adrenaline and now embarrassment regarding her behaviour. If she's being completely honest with herself, she wants nothing more than to wrap her arms around him, to hold him in her embrace and whisper sweet apologies and soft affectionate words.

But she's not. (Being honest.)

Since she's being entirely untruthful, she ignores her prickling conscience completely as she interrupts, "The rules of fair play do not apply to love and war."

"Love and war are the same thing, and stratagems and polity are as allowable in the one as in the other," he replies quickly.

_Love and war._

_Love._

_No._

Her chest heaves heavy with her breath and she finds herself pulled to him, magnetized by some force she can't explain or understand. She stops before him, looking at him, but not seeing and she wishes Anna were here to stop her stupid smitten thoughts from coming to fruition. He mirrors her tension and uncertainty, gaze intense and she's powerless to stop the desire to press herself against him.

So she does.

Before she can manage words, he has her wrapped tightly in his arms and is sighing, "It's okay. I will happily concede to whatever fate Arendelle has for me."

_OH._

_OH...YES._

Her eyes flutter closed against her will as she melts into his chest. She's not felt so small or so safe since her Father held her in his arms, _a lifetime ago._ Hans is warm and firm and his heart is bounding as fast as hers when she catches a soft keening sigh rumble in his chest.

So she doesn't apologize.

_Why would I apologize for anything that led to THIS?_

Instead she loses herself for long moments in his arms until he releases her with a timid smile, "Way to demonstrate that you, nor Arendelle, are to be trifled with, _My Evil Queen_."

Elsa blinks, somewhat confused, "Wait. You're not cross?"

"At you? Never."

* * *

The peace summit was an immense success.

France even sent a delegation to participate, for the first time in years, and Arendelle found itself on the receiving end of numerous lucrative trade agreements. Elsa was pleasantly surprised, and received formal invitation to visit later that year with King Adam and Queen Belle.

(Anna exclaiming, "Imagine, Paris at _Christmas!"_ )

_Wow._

At Hans' departure she was overwhelmed by strange _pain_ that settled in her chest as she watched him set sail. Heavy and stifling, it almost hurt to breathe. It seemed to fade with her prayer that her letter and tiny magical ice frigate found their way to his stateroom and onto his pillow. (As she was unsure how to ensure such a task be accomplished without his knowledge, she had to rely upon Kai to assist her with her _surprise._ )

_Oh, and one other thing: Anna announced she was pregnant._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I confess that I had trouble with Anna this chapter - she insisted on being feisty and a bit unreasonable, a departure from her wonderfully level headed more mature demeanor in my story. Sort of a return to 18-year-old Anna in regards to Hans' return. After I gave up struggling with it, I realized I needed to have a reasonable explanation for it - so ta-da! Pregnant Anna! Of course she'd be a bit moody and out of sorts with her hormones going crazy :)
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading so far!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Picking up from the events of the last chapter, late summer. And for the record, Elsa gave me trouble this chapter, too impulsive, too pushy, ugh. After too many edits, I pray she settled some. Sorry. She held up this chapter big time.
> 
> Komtesse is the daughter of a Count or Countess in Norwegian (I think).

* * *

 

_Four years earlier…_

France attendra. (France will wait.)

Anna insisted she go, but to no avail.

Elsa refused to leave Arendelle when Anna would be heavy with child – terrified of the risks of childbirth and loosing Anna. Not that her magical powers over snow and ice could help, but she fears she would die from a broken heart if something were to happen while she was away. The note from Queen Belle was quite understanding and accommodating, being a mother herself, and tentative plans made for a Royal visit the following year.

Elsa attempted to resume her correspondence with Hans as she had promised, she writes many times but as the summer creeps by slowly, she receives no response. Her resentment towards a certain _MEDDLING_ Southern Isles Queen begins to grow – she finds herself desiring nothing more than to pen a nasty letter to the woman to tell her to _shove off._ But that would be unbecoming behavior for a _QUEEN_ (and she trusts Hans has already expressed similar, rather unorthodox sentiments towards his mother, thus she shouldn't need to).

And in the dark of night, when her dreams are not subject to her own control, he resumes inserting himself into her life quite pleasantly. The room occasionally blanketed in snow as she awakens with erotic thoughts swirling and frustration twisting.

* * *

There is a reason Elsa never makes time for tea with the courtiers.

Because now her head is practically _spinning,_ conversations bouncing too rapidly for her to track.

The almost frantic exchange of non-important information befuddles her. If her advisors and council conducted themselves in such a manner she would likely have gone stark, raving mad after her first _actual_ day of rule. And it isn't simply the subject matter, although she could care less about latest trends in fashion or court gossip (somehow, it is always according to everyone's hair dresser or some distant cousin), but it is more of the _manner_ of conversation that she can't stand.

But Anna reminded her this morning she has to at least _try_ today.

( _"But, I can't. Honestly," she replied glumly, "It's like an exercise in futility to pretend to hold value in what is said.")_

But Anna says she has to _try._

So she is.

_For Anna._

_(Olaf had walked past the table at breakfast parroting in a slow drawl, "For Anna", causing Elsa to momentarily regret the personal snow flurry she had bestowed upon him.)_

Elsa glances around the tea, realizing she must admit this is a lost cause. With her resignation that she can't follow the conversations comes some semblance of peace, and Elsa sighs pleasantly into her teacup as the warmth seeps through the bone china to her fingers. Soft, humid warm air breezes over the garden gazebo, fragrant blooms perfuming the last warm summer afternoon before the brisk autumn air ushers in the change of season.

_Elsa ponders lazily, 'That makes sense, right? Air can be soft?'_

Her eyes squint as she looks out over the garden at a pair of wrens springing from branch to branch before taking flight.

_Okay, this is lovely_.

She focuses on Anna's rapid chatter and soft giggles, thinking how wonderful it is to have Anna beside her, and the conversations around become faint noise. That is, until she hears _HIS_ name quietly spoken into someone's ear. She tenses immediately.

_What did she say?_

Her chin lifts slightly as she blatantly stares at the women who'd uttered his name. Komtesse Anna-Marie _Something-of-Somewhere._

_Isn't she the daughter of my Fleet Admiral? The one who just returned from visiting a cousin in the Southern Isles?_

She can't catch anything that's said _(_ aside from _"…first time was years ago…"_ and _"…but now he's…")_ , and she's no good at interpreting body language most of the time, but the wanton glint in the woman's eye is undeniable.

Her court is the last place she expects Hans to be lurking about, and she's fairly certain tea has been awkward enough for everyone involved without having her turn into some sort of monster at the sound of his name. People are allowed to speak of him – he's been forgiven by Arendelle and welcomed as a guest at the castle. And she knows his _personal_ history; that is, his taste in women. He's had no qualms disclosing the torrid details to her in his past letters, tales of his escapades that have served as the foundation for irritating his Lady Mother in recent years.

_But. No. No, he didn't. He wouldn't. Not in MY court._

It's an odd sort of resolve that settles in that moment, one that has her planning a hike to the North Mountain to visit Marshmallow and blanket the forest in snow until she feels renewed. But Anna seems to recognize that thought percolating in her head.

"Don't you dare," Anna says quietly, in a playful way that has Elsa staring blankly at her in response. "I don't know what's put that look in your eyes, but _NO_." Anna rubs her swollen belly absentmindedly as she continues, "There is no way I'm chasing you through snow covered trees in my condition – and Kristoff isn't here for me to send after you."

She opens her mouth to explain but catches the giggle from Komtesse Anna-Marie _Something-of-Somewhere,_ and instead she scowls at Anna for dragging her to this blasted tea. Elsa realizes there's an odd rolling tightness in the pit of her stomach, mixing jealousy and unsettled fear of whatever physical intimacy Hans may have shown that woman (because she remembers how warm and safe she felt in his arms and selfishly wants that _again._ ) She leans closer to Anna as she practically hisses, "Hans. She's saying he bedded her, I think."

Anna looks dumbfounded before she manages, "Great. Now I'm nauseous again."

Elsa rolls her eyes.

Anna takes Elsa's hand into her own as she studies her carefully, "You know he's a jerk, right?" She squeezes her hand as she continues, "But I'm sensing that you want her to stop talking about it. So, just invite her to walk with you through the larkspur beds."

That confuses Elsa more than it should.

_What? Why? Is that where you off people?_

"That's code for ' _I need to address a private matter with you, away from prying eyes'._ I've pulled that enough in the past that everyone here will know she's being called out. That will stop the gossip about it."

Elsa's pride of how amazing Anna truly is swells as her lips quirk, "Really?" If Anna had been so level headed years ago, she'd likely still be hiding her curse and Anna may be married to Hans.

Both of those thoughts _hurt._

"Oh, absolutely. I don't tolerate that nonsense around here. Especially if it has something to do with you. Or someone you find important - regardless of how much I disagree with you. Because _HE_ really isn't important." Anna smiles reassuringly as she releases Elsa's hand and sits back properly. She looks to the Komtesse before leaning closer with a sly grin to add, "Occasionally I'll threaten the courtiers that you'll go all _Ice Crazy_ ," her hands raise slightly to gesture with fingers waving, "but it's been years since I used that last."

Elsa hums her disapproval as she steals another glance at the Komtesse, who seems oblivious to her irritation as she overhears Hans' name being spoken again.

_NO. I won't stand for this in my court._

She raises her chin and in a single breath the breeze has chilled, all eyes falling on her as she invites Komtesse Anna-Marie _Something-of-Somewhere_ to walk with her through the larkspur beds. And smiles gently.

The woman blinks, surprised eyes darting to Elsa. However, surprise is quickly replaced by smug. "Of course I am honored, but I fear I must respectfully decline, Your Majesty. I suffer from terrible ailments due to larkspur this time of year," her eyes widen as she daintily dabs her nose with a handkerchief, "truly unfortunate."

A table of prying eyes shift to the Queen.

"Oh dear, what an awkward situation," her smile pulling sharper as she raises a shoulder feigning concern. "My throne room then," her voice bites _cold_ as she stands, eyebrow hitched and haughty expression firmly fixed (she's sure), "Now."

(The Komtesse found herself _dismissed_ from the Arendelle Court.)

* * *

Elsa had skipped dinner and gone straight to an after dinner digestif.

Alone.

In her chambers. Buried in soft sheets and fluffy, warm pillows cradling her – because she feels _cold._

And Anna did not approve.

"Okay. What was that all about at tea, Elsa?"

"The Komtesse lied to me. I won't tolerate that," she said simply.

"What?" Anna blinked as her brow furrowed, "Why in the world would a woman lie about something like that?"

Elsa smirked as she flared her fingers, magic rushing quickly across the room for no reason what-so-ever aside from adding to the random pile of snow collecting in the corner. She took another sip from the crystal, "Because she has an over-inflated sense of importance? I really don't know. But it supports my overall impression that the courtiers are not a terribly bright lot. _"_ She smiled widely, _"_ But on another note, I can't feel my fingertips."

"Thank you very much," Anna grumbled as she plucked the tumbler of brandy from Elsa's hand. "You've had enough."

"She lied."

"You mentioned that."

"Oh."

Anna rolled her eyes as she plopped beside Elsa in her bed, "And how do you know she's lying?"

_Because she couldn't tell me…wait. Anna won't appreciate that._

Elsa's quick, inebriated mind eloquently revises her explanation, "Because."

"I'll give you back your glass if you tell me," Anna barters.

_Oh._

Elsa does want the glass back, the brandy had helped her to care _less_ , warmth lingering with the numbness, "She couldn't describe any distinguishing marks or features of his flesh. If she's been intimate with him recently, she'd have seen the snowflake and mentioned it. Instead, she said he had none."

Anna shutters, "That's so wrong, by the way."

Elsa shrugs lazily, reaching for the glass Anna held, "Okay."

Anna sighs sadly as she lolls her head in Elsa's direction, resting against the pillows, "Elsa, did you actually _see_ this tattoo? And please tell me no."

"No, I didn't ask to see it as that would have been inappropriate," she says. Although her curiosity was only ever under fragile control in regards to him, as it liked to run off and get her _in trouble,_ it was unable to knock down her walls of common sense that night in Scotland. Or she would have _._

"I have to ask you something and I need you to be honest."

There was a hiccupped agreement from the Queen.

"Why do you care if Hans did or didn't have some torrid affair with a member of our court?"

Skirting unwanted topics with others is a skill Elsa has begun to perfect, raised in solitude, the need to avoid _specific topics_ was unnecessary (since she simply avoided _EVERYTHING)_. During the spring peace summit, she watched Hans and his interactions with other leaders and delegates, beginning to dissect _HOW_ Hans works. There was sense of admiration for how he successfully gets what he wants with such subtly, careful and sensitively intelligent words and direction used to carve a path towards whatever goal he may have set for himself. She's so careful recently with Anna, although her general moodiness has improved as the pregnancy has progressed, this _thing_ Hans does seems to help avoid conflict. And Elsa will do anything for Anna. _Anything_. And since there are still things she does that earn Anna's disapproval or cause Anna to become upset – Elsa has learned to avoid _talking_ at times about what Anna is trying to get at.

But that _thing_ Hans does is too hard to do when she can't feel her fingertips.

Bright blue eyes blink as they hold shame and confusion, meeting Anna's with brutal honesty, "I. I – don't know. And I don't want to care, but something hurts at the thought of it and I don't know why."

( _Conceal it. Don't feel it. Don't let it show.)_

Anna's lips pursed in response, but didn't push the conversation any further, "Okay."

* * *

The harsh bite of winter is upon Arendelle when Anna scurries (or rather, waddles - waddles very quickly) to Elsa and drops something atop her book resting in her lap.

Elsa's breathe catches, her heart practically stops.

A small icy figure; a Prince gallantly riding his noble steed is looking up at her. He's on his quest to rescue the Fair Princess from the Evil Queen who's locked her in the tallest tower of the castle.

_The Heroic Prince._

She's not seen him since she was about eight.

Fragile reverence twists with Elsa's words, voice small and astonished, "Where did you get this?"

Anna beams a grin, "The Royal nursery, tucked away in a box in the closet. There's more, too!"

Elsa can feel hot tears beginning to burn as she smiles sadly, "I hid them from Mama after your accident. Hoping one day we could play with them again."

Anna holds up the Fair Princess, long hair in a braid over her shoulder and smiling, "Maybe I'm having a daughter and they can be hers!"

"I'd like that very much," Elsa smiles bittersweet as her eyes fall back to the Prince. It was really a jealous longing pulling at her heart – fearing she will never welcome a child of her own into the world. Maybe. Or not. But regardless, she's happy to see her iced figures once more, "Thank you for finding them."

* * *

_It was just as the New Year was welcomed, he entered her life._

Midwives instruct (or rather demand) Kristoff to find something to do for the day, outside the castle, as he's to be summoned once the babe arrived. Kristoff seemed to prefer being sent away. _("I'm not sure I'd ever be able to look at things the same after seeing a baby be born," he said rather tactlessly, "I've seen animals birth before, and it wasn't a pretty sight.")_. While nothing was specifically said to Elsa, there was clear concern that her presence and _powers_ may create an environment unsuitable for a newborn.

Elsa's heart breaks that she is being kept away for fear of freezing or harming the babe during the birth. Of course, it may be a legitimate concern, but she is still heartbroken.

It would be after a day of labor and an agonizing, gut wrenching cry from Anna ringing out into the hallway that Elsa chose to storm into Anna's chambers, past irritated midwives and their clucking to be at her side.

"Thank the _LORD_ you are here, Elsa! I need you!" Anna had cried angrily through clenched teeth.

Elsa never believed in love at first sight, but as she clutched Anna's clammy hand tightly in her own and the babe took his first breath, seeing his large blue eyes blinking back at her she did.

Anna was exhausted, overwhelmed and _hurt._ The swaddled babe was handed to Anna as Elsa murmured, "He's _perfect._ "

Anna smiles wearily, "Oh, my. He is. I love him so much." She sits quietly staring at him, studying his nose and faint blonde peach fuzz atop his head.

She turns her head and smiled, "I love that you are here, Elsa. I didn't want to do this without you. Thank you."

Elsa presses tender lips to Anna's forehead then to the babe, "Me neither. You're absolutely amazing, Anna. I am so proud of you. My powers to create winter are nothing compared to what you can do."

It's true.

He is _beautiful._

And Elsa is madly in love with him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the slight glance at "present day" for Elsa before resuming the backstory. It is more or less a reminder of where we are at, if such reminders are distracting - please let me know! The backstory will be trapped in Corona for the next few chapters as I have a few things I think we need to work through and can't cram it into just one. Sorry! 
> 
> I come from the school of thought that Rapunzel from Disney's Tangled is a maternal cousin to Elsa and Anna (and that Hans and Eugene could have a wonderful bromance…but that is beside the point). I also buy into the theory that the King and Queen of Arendelle had been lost at sea in a storm on their way to Rapunzel and Eugene's wedding, references to this will appear in this or future chapters.

* * *

"I can't do this, Anna. I – I can't." Elsa gasps around the pain in her chest, "I didn't know he felt the same, or that this horrible feeling when we're apart and loss of control I seem to have was love. I didn't know."

Anna huffs with a slight smile as she swats away a flurry of snowflakes.

"It's terrible…I wouldn't wish this upon my worst enemy," Elsa whispers desperately, trembling hands wringing together frantically.

"It is called _FALLING IN LOVE_ for a reason, Elsa." Anna chuckles affectionately as she squeezes her shoulders reassuringly, "It's terrifying and unpredictable and you're helpless to stop it. But you signed the treaty. And I meant what I said earlier, I doubt France will yield."

Anna opens the door to the private ante-chamber to the ballroom with her free hand, ignoring Elsa's protests and revealing Prince Maurice waiting patiently, quite alone, a timid smile gracing his handsome features before realization seems to set regarding Elsa's current state. He quickly strides to the sisters, concern evident in his voice, French accent thick and wonderful, "Did you find him? Were you able to say what you needed to?"

Elsa simply stares at him, frost beginning to crackle and whine at her toes.

He raises an amused eyebrow at the ice as he runs a hand through dark blonde hair, "Ah – Anna, care to help translate?"

Anna sighs and presses a kiss to Elsa's cheek as she tries to hold herself together, looking sadly at Maurice.

Elsa manages, "I was able to speak to him. Thank you for your understanding, Maurice."

The room is silent and still, heavy with Elsa's grief as she thaws the frost and the flurries disappear. Elsa turns to Anna, wrapping her arms tightly around her as her eyes flutter closed, lids swollen and tired from her fallen tears.

The French Prince looks cautiously between the sisters as he clears his throat, "Of course. May I have a word with you, privately, My Queen?"

Anna detangles herself from Elsa's embrace as she whispers quietly, "Talk to him. I told you before he's got his own reasons for entering into the treaty with Arendelle – trust me. You're too amazing and _stubborn_ to let something you want slip away. Surely something can be arranged."

With that Elsa kisses Anna's cheek, "Stubborn?"

"Yes, stubborn. And _Ice Crazy._ "

* * *

**_Three years earlier…_ **

_Frère Jacques, frère Jacques,_ _  
__Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?_  
Sonnez les matines! Sonnez les matines!  
Ding, dang, dong. Ding, dang, dong.

Elsa pauses her soft song as blue eyes blink sleepily with a lazy grin, and she revises her words.

 _Frère Kristoffer, frère Kristoffer,_ _  
__Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?_  
Sonnez les matines! Sonnez les matines!  
Ding, dang, dong. Ding, dang, dong.

"I can't go to Corona," she sighs, "I'm going to miss you _too_ much. You know that, right?"

His gurgled giggle brightens her smile as she raise her nephew out of his cradle and into her arms, "How can I possibly leave you?"

Chubby fingers clumsily grab the tip of her braid to shove into his mouth as he coos his reply.

"So tell your mother," she continues after she catches Anna out of the corner of her eye standing in the doorway of the nursery watching amused, "That I don't _have_ to attend _every_ summit. It's okay to skip a year."

"You'll never meet anyone held up in your gilded cage, you know."

Anna had recently come to the conclusion (along with others, but she's the only opinion that actually matters, being the _Most Important One)_ that Elsa's time was up – she's proved herself as a successful and beloved Queen, capable of ruling independently with a sharp mind and kind heart. Elsa needs to get on with it. Get married and have babies. Watching her interact with Kristoffer only added fuel to the fire Anna was trying to light beneath her.

Elsa whispers softly to the babe, but loud enough for Anna to hear, "I don't need to meet anyone. I've met you. You love me. You will be my King when I'm old and grey." She presses her lips to his downy soft blonde fuzz atop his head and looks slyly at Anna, cuddling the babe closer to her.

Anna shakes her head fondly as she scolds with a smile, "Quit trying to involve him in your succession planning."

"Tell your mother that you love me, and you'd make wise and fair King one day."

"I can't believe you woke up my sleeping babe to - wait." Anna says suspiciously, "No. You wouldn't."

Elsa blinks innocently, "He wants to be King of Arendelle one day. He just told me so. I can die the Virgin Queen quite happily now, knowing my Kingdom has an heir."

Her gaze shifts to Elsa's eyes, mockingly horrified, "You're asking an angel to deliver the devil's words?"

Doing her best to look offended Elsa scoffs, "No, I'm not." Elsa manages to suppress her giggle as she adds, "And I woke him up because I had to say good-bye."

Anna laughs as she comes beside Elsa, wrapping her arms around her as she holds the babe, "So you're going?" she asks skeptically. She shifts to take Kristoffer from Elsa's arms with a questioning glance.

Elsa sighs dramatically as she relinquishes her nephew, "I suppose. The Flag ship _IS_ prepared and waiting for me."

"Literally. There is an impatient Captain standing in the hallway who asked me to ' _encourage'_ you to come along a bit more quickly."

Elsa brushes tender fingers over the babe's round head, ignoring Anna's remark about keeping an entire ship waiting. "I'm going to the summit to ensure that Arendelle is an active participant in this region's coalition supporting peace. I'm not going with hopes of meeting _Prince Charming_ , you know." Elsa kisses Kristoffer's cheek, "Because he's right here."

Anna hums her response before hitching an eyebrow, "No, you're likely going with hopes of Prince Preferable attending, just so you can get yourself into trouble. Although," she pauses as her brow furrows, "I've noticed you haven't received any letters from him since the last summit."

_Elsa had foolishly hoped for a letter to arrive prior to the annual summit, instead she found herself disappointed and slightly cross._

Elsa says carefully as she watches Anna smiling widely at the babe, "I suspect his Queen Mother is interfering with our correspondence for some reason. What the reason is, I have no idea."

Anna mutters under her breath something to the effect of, " _Because she's got half a brain and is trying to keep Arendelle out of any more mess with the man."_

Elsa huffs a laugh as she continues, "You do realize that I have no idea if Admiral Westergård will even be at the summit."

They stand in silence, watching Kristoffer reposition Elsa's braid in his other hand before shoving it back between his gummy smile.

Anna makes a face, "Don't let Kristoffer chew on your hair."

Elsa smiles innocently as she coos at the babe, "How can I deny him? He's my _Little Prince Charming_."

"For goodness sakes, give him an iced teething ring to chew on."

Elsa rolls her eyes and she conjures an iced ring to trade the babe for the tip of her tied hair, "My hair is clean and he has no teeth yet, so I fail to see what the issue is."

Anna harrumphs, "I'm his _Lady Mother_ and I say he shouldn't. _"_

"Ah," Elsa giggles, "so you're meddling?"

The glare from Anna is hard and disapproving. She sighs as she studies Elsa for long moments, lips pressing together firmly. "Promise you'll behave yourself. Okay?" Anna says sternly, her implication crystal clear as she looks pointedly at her, a small twist of her lips pulling as she adds, "And feel free to bring home a suitor to court you properly. Stop being so stubborn."

"You're meddling…" Elsa says sing-song with a roll her eyes. "I promise to behave myself and no - the _Virgin Snow Queen_ has no intention of bringing home a suitor. So you can go ahead and dispel that rumor circulating among the courtiers while I'm gone," she sighs as she kisses Anna on the cheek. "But I'll see if I can convince Rapunzel to come."

Anna's eyes light up, "Deal."

* * *

Fierce weather meets the Arendelle Flag Ship during the transit, foul winds and choppy seas making the transit treacherous and slow due to an unusually late winter storm. Anxiety and panic swirl and threaten to consume the frightened Queen most nights, making sleep elusive during her journey – what little rest she finds is fraught by terrible images of sinking ships and frozen sailors as she desperately tries to keep her own ice under control.

(Her mind keeps going to the solemn hilltop back in Arendelle where large granite slabs stand erected to memorialize the death of her parents, lost forever in this very stretch of sea).

The storm delays her arrival to the summit hosted by Corona by almost a week, causing her to miss the opening gala and first session of meetings. It was as she finally disembarked the vessel at the docks in sunny Corona that she noted with relief that one, the land was dry and firm and warm, and two, Hans' banner was flying upon one of the Southern Isles warships -a larger and somewhat more imposing beast of a ship than what he was commanding the last she saw of him. She realized with irritation that her nerves were fluttering excitedly with her observation, tingles of euphoria curling and teasing her. She fears it may not bode well for helping her keep her promise to Anna.

_Oh figs._

It was after she was greeted and shown to her guest chambers by Princess Rapunzel _(Oh cousin, I was terrified something terrible had happened to you – I feared Anna would never forgive Corona after the sea between us claimed every member of her family!),_ and she sunk into a warm bath that she tried to allow herself to finally _relax_ for the first time in a week - tension washing away with the fragrant oil and soft white bubbles. Her eyes drifted closed as her mind wandered (still to crashing waves and wooden ships), the water cooling as time passed. She found herself dozing off slightly before coming to, realizing she was likely to fall asleep and drown herself in the bath if she wasn't careful.

There was the feast to prepare for that Gerda insisted she skip and rest (Elsa refused), so she begrudgingly emerged from the bath to allow the handmaidens to assist her, listening quietly to their soft chatter and gossip and praying for Hans' name to be spoken.

Or not.

Actually.

After the suspicious glances Elsa received from her sailors and accompanying staff and council during the winter storm, she suspects there were rumors flying that _she was to blame for the winter weather while at sea._ Embarrassment and frustration accompany her decision that a change in wardrobe is needed for the next few days and she selects a gown from one of the trunks brought up to her rooms. Because there are in fact times that she needs to remind others that she is a _person_ , not the embodiment of an ethereal winter spirit. So Elsa choses something traditional, all pale pink fabric and lace with rosemaling embroidery along the hem and entirely un-magical for the evening. She smooths her hands down the front of the bodice _hating_ the way she looks before finally being ready to make her way down the hall. Although in somewhat of a daze with her head lowered and lost in thought, her mind clears in a heartbeat when _his_ voice wraps itself around her.

Hans is at the end of the hall, not at all dressed for a feast, but rather he's in his sea uniform – a bag at his feet and a leather-bound book of charts in his hand, speaking to another officer (confirming receipt of some report) before handing the other officer the book of charts and dismissing him. Hans' hair has been trimmed into similar style with sideburns groomed as he wore years ago at her coronation, making him look _so young._ She can't help but think how handsome he looks, the perfect mix of warrior and Prince.

_Oh figs…_

He turns at the slight sound her shoes make as she approaches him and their eyes lock. She watches his startled pleasure mix with grave concern as a sigh of relief escapes him, the reflex of his smile quickly pulling to a frown.

"Admiral Westergård," she murmurs helplessly as he studies her intently, his gaze roaming her figure and she's suddenly extremely self-conscious of the _awful_ pink gown.

He stops before her, too close but too far away, really.

He replies breathlessly, "You made it."

"Yes."

He takes her hand into his as he steps _closer (all at once much worse and far better),_ "I was readying a ship to look for you when I received word the delegation from Arendelle had finally arrived. My men are truly relieved not to have to brave a winter storm to search the sea for Arendelle's Snow Queen." He smiles conspiratorially, "However, I heard that my sanity was being called into question and I thoroughly upset my Mother. So I feel it would have absolutely been worth it to find you."

_He's not wearing any gloves. His hands are bare as they envelop hers…_

Elsa only half hears him as she stares with wide eyes and a blush blooming - her mind cracked and worthless and unable to process _anything_ but the heat radiating from his bare hands that hold hers, fire racing through her overwhelmed by the rough texture of his palms under hers.

Elsa blinks as she stares, the image of his bare flesh and hers meeting together searing itself to her memory and sparking tiny tendrils of inappropriate fantasies. They stand, her hand in his for long moments before he seems to realize what he's done and he grins _knowingly,_ eyes dark with promises of delight and _scandal._

She won't allow him to pull that stunt with her.

But her broken mind forgets that, and she can't help the affectionate smile that shines, "You were going after me?"

"Of course."

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, triggering his eyes to track the movement and darken further. Her words tumble without thought, "You like living dangerously, don't you? Chasing after Evil Queens and trying to get yourself killed?"

He's already raised her hand to his lips when he smirks, glancing at her though thick lashes as he murmurs before pressing _tender lips_ to the back of her hand, "It wouldn't be the first time, now would it? Going head first into a storm where you are most certainly to be found? And I dare say, it's likely not the last."

Her lips quirk as her eyebrow cocks, her mind _finally_ catching up.

There is a fabulous audience of guards, handmaidens, and scattered dignitaries who have all stopped to watch their interaction. She groans embarrassed as she hisses quietly, "You can let go of my hand now, Hans."

He chuckles, but rather than release her, he folds her into his arm and proceeds to escort her _back_ towards her chambers, "You needn't bother with the feast tonight. You're to be seated beside my Mother, and I would advise a restful night's sleep before conversing with her."

_She's here, too?_

_Why?_

Instead she says, "I think I can make that decision for myself."

It is actually wonderful advice he offers, and honestly she'd be horrified to have to sit beside the woman all evening long in her current _mindless_ state – her common sense has checked out completely and she'd likely get herself into trouble. So she stops before her door, expression flat and bored, "I fear I am too fatigued from my journey to attend the festivities tonight. If you would please offer my sincerest apologies to the King and Queen of Corona, I would be ever so grateful."

Hans smiles _warmly_ , "Of course, Your Grace."

She can't help but shake her head fondly in response, smile pulling.

"If I may be so presumptuous, I'll also arrange for a dinner tray to be delivered – you must eat _something."_

"Thank you."

He watches her for a moment before confusion sets and his head tilts slightly, "What are you wearing?"

"It's traditional," she says with humor, shoulders shrugging as her fingers smooth over the fabric of the skirt and looking up at him coyly.

"It's beautiful," he says thoughtfully before adding, "But it's not you. I prefer your icy gowns."

"True." She stares into his eyes silently before whispering, "Thank you."

His eyebrows raise questioning.

"Thank you for coming after me."

Hans hums at her clarification.

"And for your honesty." He smirks as she adds, "Or rather, what I presume is your honesty. The gown is… _not me._ "

She links her fingers together before her and drops her chin as she confesses, "I – I. I have missed you, Hans. I missed your letters."

"Me too."

She thinks of her darling nephew back home, her little French song as she said good-bye and she sighs, "Bonne nuit, Héroïque Prince."

His grin is playful as he turns to leave before she can dismiss him, "Bonne nuit, ma Malveillant Reine."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning that I am flirting very heavily with the rating on this chapter, for adult activities.

* * *

 

**_Three years earlier..._ **

_It started with frost and ended in a storm. (Then the break of dawn.)_

A night spent dreaming of Hans' bare hands sinfully exploring every inch of her pale flesh left Elsa on the cusp of release. That is until morning, when the latch of the bedchamber door shifted loudly and caused her to startle awake very embarrassed, frosting the bedlinens. The young maid shrieked in fear as she dropped the morning tea tray, china shattering to the ground as Elsa bolted upright, breathe caught and _mortified._

Elsa rambled softly, voice thick with sleep as she offered urgent apologies for frightening the trembling girl with her icy magic. The commotion attracted a frazzled Gerda, as well as every other female staff member present in her guest chambers.

_Oh figs…_

She narrowed her eyes as she dissolved the frost in a rush of exhaled breath (mentally cursing Hans for persisting in being her incubus…the incident from the previous evening providing new methods to tempt and tease and haunt her sleep). Elsa dismissed everyone quickly, attempting a reassuring smile, "I'll not need any assistance this morning, thank you."

She sighed, pushing Hans from her thoughts and realizing her anxiety and unsettled fear from the transit across the sea still lingered, tension twisting. And frowned.

_Okay. Prepare for the day._

_Yes._

She can't stand the idea of donning another fabric gown, and while others may quietly suspect every snowflake is under her command - winter bowing to her every whim, Corona is the _Kingdom of the Sun._ She needn't be concerned of such thoughts here, she reasons.

_Yes._

_It's the Kingdom of the Sun._

Ignoring the trunk of beautiful (and _un-magical_ ) gowns, she glances at her reflection. Fluttering fingers conjure a gown, shifting the shade of blue to one darker than usual to match her mood, resolving to _own_ her gift. Or her curse, depending on your perspective. Honestly she was leaning more towards _CURSE_ at the moment.

With one last glance at herself in the mirror, she set her shoulders with a practiced smile. The perfect appearance of regal elegance and calm control as she strides confidently from her guest chambers.

However, the day persists in its discordance, causing her palms to itch for gloves despite her attempts to conceal the unease settling in her bones.

There was the private breakfast with the Royal Family before the start of the day. The kind and thoughtful words offered by her Uncle and Aunt as they reminisce about her late patents left her chest cold as she visits with a careful smile – ghosts haunting her words. The resemblance between her Aunt and her late Mother are uncanny and she finds herself just staring from time to time, sadness etched in her brow and ache growing in her chest.

The King and Queen of Corona were unaware of Elsa's… _gift…_ prior to her coronation _._ Although her parents had been told of Princess Rapunzel's magical hair and ability to _restore life_ to Eugene, they never shared that Elsa possessed her own magic.

Evidently protecting Elsa from the world (or the world from her, she suspects) included disavowing all knowledge of magic to _everyone._ Preventing any sort of healthy relationship from ever developing and leaving Elsa stumbling through personal interactions awkwardly as an adult. Not that she should be surprised, even her own dear sister was unaware of her magic and was not allowed to _know_ her.

Elsa won't speak ill of them (her late parents), but as she has come to live life without the need to _conceal it, don't feel it, don't let it show,_ she can't help but wonder what sort of parent could inflict such a _wretched, frightening fate_ upon a child - raising them to denying the very fabric of their being. To deny who they truly are?

_(An abusive, scared coward, she thinks - that's who. And some days she wishes for the impossible, to confront her Father – one ruler to another. As equals. Today was one of those days.)_

It was after Rapunzel's return from Arendelle (after attending the _debacle_ that was Elsa's coronation) they learned her fate, Rapunzel offering a slightly varied perspective of the actual events. Her tale, not being privy to all the details and timeline, was a version that told of a heroic young Prince who had been declared the Regent of Arendelle by Princess Anna in the absence of a true ruler. He calmly led upset and frantic dignitaries and the people of Arendelle with wisdom and kindness through a horrific disaster, preventing loss of life and limiting chaos. He defeated a snow-beast to come to Her Majesty's aid and saved her from the assassin's crossbows, returning her safely to the castle. Under pressure from other leaders he had been left no choice but to sentence her to death due to Princess Anna freezing at her hands. There was terrible confusion and commotion as Princess Anna was restored to life by the Queen's magic and the _Eternal Winter_ ended, and the fledgling engagement between the Prince and Princess was absolved due to his attempt to execute the Queen. However, due to Queen Elsa's forgiving heart, the youngest Prince of the Southern Isles parted ways with the Arendelle Royalty on amicable terms after the _misunderstanding_. He returned home to continue to bring honor to his own Kingdom through his valiant protection of others on the high seas, including Arendelle.

 _Oddly, it is sort of where everything landed years later, at least from Elsa's perspective, so she doesn't bother to correct it_.

Breakfast ends, morning meetings begin, followed by lectures and focused diplomatic meetings.

Discussions regarding the integration of newer industrial practices in urban settings and the pitfalls and perils that accompany the adaptation of technology leave Elsa restlessly frustrated and everywhere but the present (and not hearing half of what is said). She stares out the window watching the day shift _winter-_ gray, tiny splatters of rain patterning the glass.

_Oh no…_

The storm she encountered during her transit is arriving in Corona.

She catches whispers of _Arendelle_ and _Eternal Winter_ from a dignitary from Weaselton that she doesn't recognize. The smaller framed man sits confidently as he speaks lowly, occasionally glancing in her direction. She catches his gaze at one point and he smirks with a condescending nod of his head.

Now she's _angry._

Her fingertips tingle with frost as she bows her head to see if it has begun to march across the table (no…not yet), and thinks of the patience of a melting glacier. She tries to think of her darling _Little Prince Charming,_ but that just upsets her further (not being home and _with him_ ) and does nothing to improve her outlook at the moment.

It is during one of the breaks in the day that Hans seeks her out, finding her alone before a window overlooking the harbor of bobbing ships. The sky has become heavy and leaden, the sun just a blurred dot in the haze. Cold rain had begun its transition to tiny flurries and Elsa watches them in defeat when he comes to stand beside her, gloved hands folded formally at his back.

"They're beautiful," he says quietly, wearing an expression suspiciously similar to concern in his eyes.

Although managing a calm tone, her words are decidedly sour, "They aren't mine."

She's never able to stop the unsettled guilt when natural snow flurries into her world, regardless of how ridiculous she realizes that is – the sense of _responsibility_ for it all _._ And that has her feeling that she's going mad. Solitude is generally the best solution to those sorts of days.

She can't hide today, however.

She can hear the pull of his smile, "Oh. Well, then." He comes closer to her as he whispers in her ear, "In that case, these snowflakes are absolutely revolting. You should add a few of your own, just to show everyone how to do it properly."

Her jaw works, resisting the urge to drive her elbow into his side to get him to _stop talking._

He persists in his attempt to engage her in conversation, despite the fact she keeps her responses short and won't look at him. Eventually the time is called and they both must return to their respective meetings. She watches him proceed down the hall and into the chambers his meeting is in before he pops his head out into the hall and catches her watching him.

And grins.

_Irritating man._

At the evening feast Hans captures her hand and pulls her aside before everyone can be seated, complementing her with a charismatic smile and honeyed words before surprising her with bizarre news that she had somehow missed (likely due to her mind being everywhere but _here)_.

The Duke of Weaselton is attending the summit.

Memories of her coronation push themselves to the forefront of her awareness.

_"_ _Monster…she's a MONSTER!"_

He's a _different_ Duke of Weaselton. Lord Fredrick, the eldest son of the superstitious _tøffelhelt_ she met at her coronation. The very man she saw earlier whispering suspiciously about her. He assumed the title following the unfortunate death of his father (and has recently wed Komtesse Anna-Marie _Something-of-Somewhere)._

Elsa blinks past Hans and spots her.

 _SHE'S HERE,_ presently hanging on the Duke's arm – and watching Elsa _carefully_ with a measured smile.

Elsa's eyes flutter closed as she draws a measured breath, the mantra of her former life rolling around on her tongue.

_(Conceal it. Don't feel it. Don't let it show.)_

_It never really works…but it's a reflexed habit now and she can't seem to break it._

_That only makes her MORE upset…_

Elsa feels as if she is suddenly back in Arendelle, in her throne room, but not at her coronation.

No.

She's with one of Hans' former lovers who is smugly describing in graphic detail how _talented_ he is and what a _thoughtful lover_ he makes…but is unable to recall any distinguishing marks. That's the part that Elsa holds tight to, confused and hurt and not understanding why she is or why she should care. The nauseated roil of jealousy returns (and irrational fear of whatever intimacy he may have ever shared with the woman). Elsa finds herself acknowledging his news regarding Weaselton and attempts to quickly dismiss him as her palms itch. She curls her fingers tightly, pressing her nails to the meat of her hand until it _hurts_.

He asks softly with concern in his features, "Are you alright?"

Her teeth catch her lip with the most ridiculous urge _to talk to him_. To tell him what's swirling in her mind, but it would be a confession of _something,_ and no. Instead her lip slips as she clenches her teeth together and grinds out, "I'm fine."

She turns to return to the hall as he calls to her. "Elsa," his gloved hand lands on her shoulder gently, "Please…talk to me _."_ He has the nerve to add pressure his fingers as he coaxes her back towards him.

"Unhand me." Elsa glares blindly ahead of her into the Great Hall, hands clinched into fists at her side, "Now."

"Wait," he says sternly, unwilling to be intimidated by her. "What's going on?"

Shrugging his hand from her shoulder and facing him properly, "I don't owe you my thoughts," she says, her voice dark with warning.

His brow narrows as he takes a controlled breath, mouth creasing with his frown, "No, you don't." His concession does little to stop him as he watches her, steadying himself as her silence persists, "But let me help you. What's wrong?"

Her shoulders roll forward slightly as she crosses her arms before her, eyes darting to the snow falling outside the window as her stomach roils again, avoiding his gaze.

He offers a soft smile, affectionately tender as he catches her eye (and she hates him for it), "You know, it was only playful banter earlier when I said I didn't think it would be the last time I would be following you into a storm. But there was truth to it." His smile pulls mischievous, "Shall I fetch my coat?"

Before she has settled on anything, she brushes him aside and returns to the banquet hall, ignoring his protests as he follows on her heels. The hall is crowded with guests and loud with music, the laughter of guests mixing in the air as they are prompted to be seated. He won't take the hint and he persists in following her. She halts before her seat and they _glare_ at one another as he pulls her chair for her. He whispers curtly into her ear, "We are not done, Elsa."

There is a bitter edge as she replies, "Yes, we are."

Her eyes snap forward and she's suddenly staring into a pair of green eyes that bear a striking resemblance to Hans'.

_The Queen of the Southern Isles._

_Oh figs…_

He seems to notice his Lady Mother at the same time Elsa does and his manner changes instantly. He pleads privately, raw concern twisted in his voice as he whispers so very softly into Elsa's ear, "Don't shut me out. Good grief Elsa, I've seen you at your worst and you can't scare me away."

She blinks, staring across the table at the Southern Isles Queen who is watching with piqued interest and an amused quirk of her lips hidden behind her wine glass. It's in that moment that Elsa realizes what a _monster_ she's being, and her hand quickly covers his before he can pull away, "I'm sorry. I. I – later. Please?" Her chin lifting to catch his gaze with wide eyes.

"As you wish." With a respectful nod and a twitch of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth he murmurs, "I'd remember rule number five tonight as you sit across from my dear Queen Mother." He winks as he gracefully repositions her hand into his, and, she dare says, makes a show of ghosting his lips reverently over her knuckles before retreating to his assigned seat at the far end of the grand dining table. She half expects to find herself in a theatre and he's exiting stage left before the next scene.

His mother appears fabulously intrigued by their performance.

_Oh figs…_

Hours later, unusually late winter winds rush across Corona as Elsa retires for the night, looking for nothing but the sweet solitude of her bed and hopes of waking renewed the following morning. She's only seen Hans from afar since she was seated for the feast, her delayed arrival to the summit stirring thoughtful sympathy from the attending Monarchs and dignitaries. Her night is spent recounting her voyage and accepting belated sympathies for her parent's untimely death years earlier after making a similar transit. She takes heed of Hans' suggestion and _avoids_ the wine in her goblet, taking only the faintest taste of the champagne during the toasts. Amicable and thoughtful words are exchanged with the Queen of the Southern Isles, and beyond the customary greetings, although very limited due to the seating arrangements. It leaves her quite confused regarding the woman's intentions...

She finally finds the opportunity to escape and bid good-night to her Uncle and Aunt, offering an awkward embrace with her Aunt and a practiced smile as she retires, exhausted and raw.

As she passes a dark alcove off the grand ballroom, well past the livery and festive music, she hears a feminine giggle that twists her gaze into the shadows.

Hans is pressed into the corner, his back to the wall with a woman at his chest.

Anna-Marie, _The Duchess_ _of Weaselton,_ to be precise.

Her stomach drops as she stops inelegantly, watching Anna-Marie's hands wander with familiarity to his trousers as she presses her lips to his.

Elsa can faintly make out his gloved fingers as they wrap around the woman's shoulders, pushing her away. But Elsa's control is lost _entirely_ \- the storm inside finally releasing as swirling _cold_ winds throughout the corridor as she flees for solitude. Slamming the door to her bedchamber and dropping to the ground defeated, snowflakes suddenly conjure against her will and suspend themselves motionless in the air as frost marches across the room, conquering every surface. Her confused sobs are masked by the howling winter winds playing against the widows of the castle as natural flurries fall gently past her window.

_And she hates herself for it…she's a grown woman, the sovereign ruler of Arendelle - yet she's collapsed in a heap on the bedchamber floor, having finally lost control._

She's unsure how much time has passed before Gerda is calling to her through the door, maternal concern regarding her distress as she asks Elsa to open the door so she can help her retire properly for the night. She disregards Gerda's pleads, self-loathing and embarrassment taking root as the ice crackles up the walls and she hangs her head defeated, arms sliding to the floor so she may rest her head upon the cold ground. Her eyes flutter closed with a stuttered breath, exhaustion causing sleep to quickly claim her where she lays.

_It's only a dream. She knows she's asleep._

_So she doesn't question his arrival, nor the way he retrieves her so carefully from the icy floor as Gerda shuts the door. Weightless and cradled in his arms, she immediately warms as she presses her cheek to his chest. Tender lips are at her temple, his soft apologies and understanding spilling for her panic and anxiety, offering explanation for what she may have presumed to have witnessed earlier. His breathe is so warm against her ear as he whispers soft words of concern, again questioning her distress which only leads her to whimper faintly._

_As he places her gently on her bed and she blinks up at him, she cards her fingers tenderly through his hair before he can pull away, "Stay with me, Hans."_

_She pulls him over her, curling herself into his large frame as she does on the other nights he visits her dreams, although she ends up weakly demanding that he shed his jacket filled with metals and awards when he doesn't seem to figure it out for himself that it needs to go. She shifts her gaze over her shoulder to watch him comply, eyes dark with desire as he drops the offending garment to the ground with a thud. He unties his cravat, allowing it to flutter to the ground to join his jacket. Hans follows with his silk gloves before removing his boots and rejoining her in her bed and pulling a blanket over her._

_Her lips curl with her hum of approval._

_It's all so surreal, the sounds of a winter storm blowing outside the window and mirroring the winter backdrop of her bedchamber._

_"_ _I'm sorry it's so cold," she murmurs before her fingers wave and the winter inside dissipates._

_He watches her with such longing that she can't help but follow what her body wants – it always seems to know just what she needs._

_She settles as her finger graze his face tenderly._

_After long moments she realizes she never considered the slight coarse hair along his jawline as her fingers trail faintly over the angles of his throat. She decides that she adores the contrasting texture between that and the smooth skin of his neck, especially as she presses her lips to it._

_So she pulls closer, so ready to fall into him and his warmth as she nuzzles his throat with a content sigh. His arms come around her firmly, holding her close as his hands rest at the small of her back and press her closer, arousal coursing almost viciously in her core as she rocks her pelvis closer instinctively, finding his thigh and his own arousal._

_Oh…_

_Yes…_

_Euphoria and desire pulse with her heartbeat, causing her toes to curl._

_"_ _Help me with my hair," she says lazily between kisses to his neck, nipping at his skin as he keens, the sound triggering her to grind her core to his thigh, pressed firmly between her legs._

_There is a pleasant rumble of agreement in his chest as his arms shift, his fingers begin to loosen her hair from her intricate plait. He's so very careful as he releases the weave of blonde to fall across her shoulders, murmuring adoringly, "It's so soft."_

_Almost innocently._

_"_ _You're in bed with the Virgin Snow Queen and you're mesmerized by how soft her hair is?" Her grin is seductive and teasing, "You have been at sea too long, haven't you, Admiral Westergård?"_

_There is an amused rush of breath as a response, "You're evil."_

_She curls into his arms once he's finished with her hair and they return to cradle her._

_She wants her snowflake. She makes fast work of his shirt buttons quietly, needing to trace the brand on his flesh of her snowflake with her fingertips._

_(It's there, just as it is on other nights he visits her this way.)_

_His moan is delicious, artless and vague as she touches her brand on his chest (the ink seems far more vivid than she can remember from previous dreams) – the word mine is a chant in her mind as her mouth replaces her fingertips upon her snowflake. Her gown melts away under his hands, leaving him fumbling to touch her bare flesh under the blanket, speechless and stuttering strangely in a manner she has never known of him. His hands are almost trembling as they caress her form, restless and wonderful._

_Somewhere in her mind in occurs to her that his reaction to her disappearing gown is new._

_Interesting._

_But that thought is gone as she's overwhelmed by peaking arousal - she's there in a moment when she rocks against him, her core throbbing and pulsing as he whispers words she can't hear or catch (vibrations of only and yours absorbed into her skin, making everything so much better). It has her shuttering silently with his hands tightly grasping her - her mind goes gloriously blank as she pants through the most amazing climax she's ever had, rocking hard against him as it dissipates. His words float through her mind as it attempts to return to her, his mouth at her neck, breath warm and tempting as he cradles her like the most precious thing he's ever held in his hands._

_It all leaves her wrung out and limp. She can't move, having been reduced to simply a tangled mess of limbs nestled securely in his arms._

_Just what she needed._

_So she focuses on the warmth of him and the perfect emptiness of her mind._

And then its morning.

She blinks with the faint break of dawn – the sky is clearing to only wisps of clouds paint the faintly inked sky as it brightens. She feels _amazing,_ ready to conquer her day and finally without the tension and anxiety of the last week pulling at her. She sighs pleasantly as she blinks the sleep away when she hears the clink of a teacup to a saucer and feels a shift of weight on the mattress.

Her eyes blow wide as her chin snaps over her shoulder, **_shocked_** blue meet spring green.

HANS.

She squeals, pulling the blankets over her head as she burrows under the linens.

_Oh figs…_


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first section is 'present day', followed by a continuation of the last chapter.

There is a thick velvet curtain that feels like a shield to Elsa as she stares at it. Dark purple and heavy, it is the last barrier between her and a ballroom. Before she's ready, Monsieur Cogsworth is motioning excitedly to the staff to withdraw the fabric. She snaps herself into formal lines beside Prince Maurice, her left hand ring finger adorned with yellow gold and red rubies, her hand atop his as they proceed forward to be presented formally.

But she can't fix the obligatory smile, she's tried. Maurice had endeavored to help, teasing her regarding her somber mood ( _"It's not a funeral, My Queen.")_ , simply trying to elicit a smile.  He informed her that although this was _France,_ there would be no guillotine nor villagers with pitchforks at the ball tonight, but he can import them to Arendelle for the wedding if she'd like. It did earn him a quirk of her lips before the thought arose in her head that if Hans were here, he would likely be rambling all sorts of equally absurd things into her ear.

The engagement is announced, and she catches sight of a shocked Anna in the crowd. She suspects Anna expected her to refuse to follow through, instead making some sort of scene with a dramatic wintery flourish. Anna seems to startle out of her trance when Kristoff nudges her. Her eyes grow wide as her flailing hands point to her mouth that wears a ridiculous smile, likely trying to prompt Elsa to at least look less somber. Elsa meets her gaze but doesn't react.

The room hushes as the orchestra begins the measured bars and she's folded into Maurice's other arm as he leads her though the steps. They are relatively silent, although he compliments her grace and doesn't remind her to look at him – he know who she's looking over his shoulder for. Thankfully it's only one dance before they are escorted to stand beside the King and Queen of France to accept congratulations and formal introductions.

It is hours later that the room and the world fade away when she hears his introduction - _His Royal Highness, Admiral Prince Hans Westergård, of the Southern Isles_ and _Lady Alexandria Thoresen, Daughter of The Duke of Fensburg, of the Southern Isles._ Only his eyes betray his pain, his easy gentle smile with his mask and perfect words reveal nothing but polite formality from an attending dignitary. Prince Maurice congratulates the couple on their own engagement, announced last month, leaving Lady Thoresen beaming a bright smile and gushing excitedly as Elsa's eyes refuse to leave Hans'.

"You once said you'd do nothing for me." Elsa manages quietly, "Would you still?"

He swallows thickly, "Yes.  Anything."

* * *

**_Three years earlier…_ **

_In retrospect, she feels she handled the entire situation quite well – not a snowflake or icicle to be seen. Accidental or intentional. (Sometimes it's the little things that are important.)_

"Buongiorno, Mia Regina," Hans calls quietly through the bedlinens, "Confido che tu abbia dormito bene?"

_(Good morning, My Queen. I trust you slept well?")_

" _FUORI!_ "

_(GET OUT!)_

Elsa's heart races as she frantically takes inventory of her situation, attempting to identify what she knows for fact:

_I'm in Corona._

_It's almost dawn._

_I'm in my nightgown. And robe._

Wait. What?

She glances at herself buried under the covers, to confirm.

_Admiral Prince Hans Westergård of the Southern Isles is in my bed._

She hears the clink of china again.

_Evidently with a cup of tea._

_Which means someone else knows he's here._

She groans.

_I was intimate with him. WITH HIM._

_Anna is going to kill me._

She blinks. That doesn't seem right.

(The intimate part. But even with the intimate part being wrong, the Anna killing her part is spot on). She twists her hips, clenching the muscles in her core to confirm. No tenderness or strain that she would expect after being intimate with a man, especially after hearing Anna recount her honeymoon with Kristoff…

She groans again, _mortified_ at her predicament _._

Hans laughs quietly at her as he shifts and the mattress dips slightly. He's not obliging her demand that he _GET OUT_. Instead he offers, "Caduto dalle Nuvole?"

_("Fallen from the clouds?")_

A string Italian colloquialisms sputter from the bedsheets in reply.

She can _hear_ his smirk, "You're most unpleasant when you rise, Your Majesty."

There is a muffled chortle of laughter from across the room, distinctly feminine and suspiciously _Gerda._

_Oh no…_

Elsa doesn't want to emerge from under the bedcovers, but she fears the sooner she does the sooner this _nightmare_ will end. As she furtively abandons her hiding place she spots Hans, head dropped and focused on papers in his lap, then catches sight of an amused Gerda looking straight at her.

Her eyes narrow before snapping back to Hans.

The _DEVIL_ is wearing his sea uniform, boots and all as he sits calmly beside her and atop the comforter and linens on _HER BED_. He has various papers scattered in his lap and a pen in his _bare_ hand, jotting notes into a ledger when he catches her eye. And smiles softly.

He looks surprisingly studious, and his expression is not one she would expect from a man who spent a salacious night satisfying her wonton desires.

Gerda chortles louder as Elsa cautiously sits up _scowling._ Flustered, Elsa snaps her name in warning.

The old woman just clicks her tongue before she sighs, "Calm yourself, Your Majesty. There is nothing improper here. You were most unwell last night and without Prince Hans' assistance, I don't know what I would have done. You had me worried sick!"

"Excuse me?" Elsa's voice deflates as her eyes dart to Hans and back to Gerda, "I'm not following."

Evidently Gerda was unable to open the door to the bedchamber, causing great concern to the matronly handmaid. It was upon Prince Hans' arrival to inquire as to Her Majesty's condition (having witnessed her loss of control in the corridor), Gerda requested his aid. He was able to crack open the door enough to enter the room, and upon Gerda's directions, retrieve an unresponsive Queen from the frozen ground and returned her to bed. Prince Hans was eventually successful in helping Her Majesty to thaw her room, and finally able to fetch Gerda so she could safely enter without risk and tend properly to the unwell Queen. Her Majesty's mumbled, unintelligible words to Prince Hans encouraged Gerda to request his presence for the night, as Her Majesty only seemed to respond to him. Prince Hans kindly agreed to help in any way he could.

His Highness insisted there must be no appearance of impropriety nor hint of something that could be construed as _scandalous,_ thus he retrieved some reports that he was needing to complete and changed into his working uniform to facilitate returning to his ship first thing in the morning without raising any eyebrows. The Arendelle guards were posted at the door after escorting Hans back from his errands, Gerda explaining simply that the Queen was unwell and was not to be disturbed. She went on to add that the Royal Physician to His Majesty, the King of Corona, should be by later in the morning to examine her.

"Oh."

She's horribly embarrassed about all that. But as it could have been _far_ worse, she finally releases the breath she'd held, somewhat relieved.

She's pretty sure that wonderful, dear old Gerda asking Hans to spend the night with her is so absurd that it will likely drive Anna _mad with confusion._ And get Elsa off the hook for falling victim to her _stupidity_ with him.

Because honestly, that's all this is.

Elsa has avoided looking at Hans as memories of last night (? dream) surface, but as she finally does, there's a flicker of something in his eyes as he proceeds to quietly collect his work to take leave. Something fleeting in his expression that she can't interpret. She watches him silently as he places his books into a satchel, once finished he comes to stand formally before her.

She's absolutely baffled - quiet and thoughtful Hans is terribly out of character (not his usual modus operandi with her). Elsa glances at Gerda, and the old woman is looking adoringly at him so Elsa decides that he must have charmed his way into Gerda's good graces as they sat for hours together - while she slept blissfully unaware.  Perhaps this is for her benefit.

He nods his head in a shallow bow, the first she's seen from him in years, and it looks _respectful._ His chin lifts to reveal wide eyes that hold a warmth as they meet hers _,_ triggering her heart to flutter aberrantly. This shift in how he's handling her, how _formal_ he is behind courtly manners only makes her more nervous and concern begins to grow that he's going to continue to hide behind manners or keep her at a distance.  She needs him to go back to impertinent…after years of practice she can keep _that_ under control.

So she attempts to get _impertinent_ Hans to react.

"I told you not to do that," she sighs disappointed.  Pulling her spine taut and ignoring the fact she's in her bedclothes (and in her bed) as she's talking to him with an air of regal authority, "Are you incapable of following even the simplest of instructions?"

He blinks, considering his words for a heartbeat. She's terrified that _formal_ Hans is staying put.

"Sometimes."

_Oh thank goodness._

His mouth pulls into a childish grin, "I do enjoy twisting yours into my own."

She huffs, "Just get on already."  Elsa has to suppress her smirk.

Hans cocks an eyebrow at her before he sighs, his smile loosening as he shifts to face Gerda. His expression is regal and kind as he offers, "Thank you for the pleasure of your company, Ms. Gerda."

Gerda bobs into a shallow curtsy, "The pleasure was mine, Your Highness. Once again, you are absolutely indispensable - Arendelle is indebted to you."

 _Oh,_ _LORD…_

Gerda is so sincere, too.

Elsa groans, "No, Arendelle is not."

Gerda turns, shaking her head fondly at Elsa as she silently takes her leave, closing the door quietly.

The tension between them is palpable, anxious and stiff as they are left alone. Or so Elsa feels as she drops her chin to watch her fingers twist restlessly in her lap.

His voice is soft in the silence of the bedchamber, "Ms. Gerda wasn't the only one worried sick."

She hums her agreement awkwardly.

Half-cognizant images and feelings she would rather remain unware of keep interrupting her thoughts, leaving her blushing and untenable. Elsa finally realizes the room had fallen silent, there is a pregnant pause that she was meant to fill – and she dares to meet his gaze.

"You promised later, Your Majesty," he said tenderly, "and I'm afraid later has arrived."

All she can do is stare blankly at his mouth as he presses it into a line. It leaves her trying to remember the feel of his lips on her skin. And she can't – at all. There was his breath, halting and hot as his chest heaved against her cheek, there were even tender words melting into her skin. But she had no memory of how it felt to be _tasted._ Her lips tingle with the revelations of her own tentative exploration of his flesh, the scent of soap lingering on his skin mixing with his _taste._ And at the moment she can't truly describe the immensity of it or the way it sparked heat to _burn._ Like a lust in her body.

Again Elsa realizes (belatedly) they have fallen silent, and again it results from her failure to focus on what he's said.

Hans looks quizzically at her as his head tips slightly, "Later?"

_Oh. Right._

"About last night," she said carefully, the words practically sticking to her tongue.

Silence hangs between them as he walks slowly to her, kneeling before her as he drops his satchel with a thump to his feet.

"Promise me you'll be alright," he says with a look that is heavy, knowing.

She holds his gaze and keeps her voice level, although she's unsure how. "I'll be alright."

It's a lie. She can feel the tremor threatening her posture, but holds herself tightly. And she's sure her face is three different shades of red. Her tongue darts to wet her lips, his eyes drop to her mouth at the movement before she murmurs, "And thank you."

His voice is hushed, cool calmness a stark contrast to the heat flaring in his eyes, "For what?"

She's at a loss at his meaning – deciding after a heartbeat that, _oh._

_And she's horrified._

She blinks.

_He wants to hear my gratitude and appreciation for how he allowed me to get off, naked and half-dazed in his arms?_

Elsa's blood courses hotly through her veins as she realizes she's grieving a loss of something like innocence (not exactly…but if last night happened, it was by far the most slovenly and vulgar thing she's ever done and it has her feeling like the perfect girl is gone). And Hans is just watching her, patiently waiting for her reply.

And that solidifies it for her - she needs to know _what_ these fleeting visions are of her incubus.

She's never trusted his words, his quick wit and eloquence make him dangerous and she's too experienced with him to fall victim to _asking_ him. She'll have to settle for Gerda's tale and fill in the blanks as she can. If she can just _remember_ , the worst part is that he could make it all clear.

_Actions. Not words._

Her curiosity has reduced her common sense to wisps of smoke, and her heart pounds as she reaches out to trail her fingertips along his jaw. As they graze his flesh he stills and his shoulders relax like she's lifting the weight of the world from him, his eyes glazing slightly with a rushed exhale.

_Not the at all the reaction she expected._

Elsa gently smooths her fingers down his neck, and the heel of her hand joins the caress before carding back into his hair. The texture under the palm of her hand is slightly rough along the sharp plane of his jaw, yielding to smooth skin and silken hair as her fingers curl at the nape of his neck. Watching her own hand _sinfully_ explore his flesh ignites an inferno low in her belly and instinctively she _knows._

It was no dream.

Although the entire experience was wildly raunchy, she feels wonderful and powerful and possessive and _he's so close_. She's embarrassed that she's having to fight back the moan caught in her throat when he leans into her touch with heavy eyelids. She's pulled impossibly closer to him as she studies his reaction, adoring how his lips part with his sigh. It would be nothing to simply press her lips to his.

_No._

_No._

_No._

But she can't stop herself from resting her forehead to his, her own eyes closing as her breath escapes to mix with his, " _No."_

Shame surges as the dominate note despite this curse of biology pulling at her – shame at the fact she can't stop her eyes from opening and falling to his trousers to see if he's as aroused as she feels (and pride twists confusingly as she finds he is, as well as embarrassment that she know of such things).

His bare hand captures hers to press to his kiss to her palm, then to her wrist, mouth wet and hot and open, teasing with his tongue as she chokes her sob, _overwhelmed_ as he begins to _taste_ her with his kisses.

He catches her gaze and stops.

"Oh, Elsa," he whispers regretfully. Dark eyes read her perfectly, understanding settling in his brow regarding her conflict and that he's _pushed_ _too far._ He suddenly rises, scooping her into his arms and tucking her close to his chest as he repositions her under his chin to be seated on the bed.

"I'm so sorry. I was out of line – forgive me."

She shakes her head even though she's allowing him to hold her, as if trying to deny the confused tears. She suspects he knew her breakdown was inevitable, just unsure the emotion responsible for it.

She buries her face in his chest and cries harder, embarrassed and disappointed and confused.

It take her a long time to regain her wits, the percussion of his heart in her ear as she calms.

"I'm not a good man," he says eventually. "But," he pauses and exhales forcefully, "I'm trying. I realize the wisdom of a fool won't help, but – "

He falls silent again, and Elsa can't help but find humor in the fact the man who commands so many languages and words with astounding _brilliance_ is struggling to articulate himself. She smiles with a small amused breath, honestly relieved to _smile_ , if just for a moment.

"You make me the _Heroic Prince, My Evil Queen._ And I need that."

"Yes," She pauses, her breath still caught, "but I don't think you're always what you seem. Nor am I."

He sighs as he curls his arms tightly around her, dropping his lips to her ear, "Trust that nothing happened that you should be ashamed of, nor feel was wicked. I remained heroic. You remained evil. Simple."

And she realizes what he is inferring.

His arms tighten as she struggles to smack him and gasps, "You bastard!"

He laughs, startled and delighted, "You're developing quite the colorful vocabulary, My Queen."

Eventually Elsa yields, huffing. "What are you getting at, Hans?"

He sighs, quietly staying put.

"You determine what did or did not transpire, that's all." Hans says carefully, smoothing a hand over her loose hair that drapes down her back.

Eventually she catches her breath, stilling as she whispers bewilderedly, "So I didn't – you mean. We?" She pulls back, looking into his eyes and not understanding the emotion in his gaze, "No? It didn't happen? None of it?"

That's not at all right.

Hurt flashes in his eyes before they flutter closed, pressing another kiss to the curled finger of her hand. His thumb rubs gentle circles over one of her knuckles as he says gravely, "Please understand, I hold you in the highest regards. And since our paths have crossed all those years ago, the road I walk along in life has become far more meaningful." He finally looks at her, cautious and timid and very out of character for him. Releasing her hand to cup her jaw tenderly, drawing her wet eyes to his he whispers, "And because of that, there isn't **_anything_** in this world I wouldn't do for you."

"Oh?" Her heart is trying to pound out of her chest, and she's lightheaded and praying he doesn't try to kiss her because she isn't at all in a position to refuse.

"Even if that anything," he says very carefully, "is **_nothing_**."

Realization settles in her foggy mind that he's offering her an out. About last night.

To deny the reality of her visions, a memory spun as she needs it to be spun so that – _THIS_ (whatever _THIS_ is that they are and they have) can continue.

She bites at her cheek as he studies her with a stony gaze, his thumbs slowly sweeping the moisture from her tears away.

"It was simply a dream, wasn't it?" she says slowly, catching one of his hands and dropping her gaze to watch the way his bare fingers twine with hers.

He swallows thickly before he whispers, "Yes."

"Thank you for your understanding." She suddenly realizes his lap is not the right place to be sitting, and quickly rises and creates a more appropriate amount of space between them, crossing her arms tightly to her chest.

He nods gently, a self-depreciating smirk pulling into a smile as he rises as well, retrieving his satchel from the ground, "I'm a bit of an expert in creating scandal, as well as in preventing it."

Elsa hitches an eyebrow, "Really?"

_Okay, I can do this._

And she smiles fondly at that freeing thought, allowing herself to believe it. _I can do this._ His eyes seem to reflect exactly how she feels as he quips, "At present, I am writing the definitive work on the subject. Or so my dear Queen Mother suspects."

Elsa can't help the amused breath.

* * *

Elsa is giggling madly, champagne warming her toes and causing her smile to pull wide as she holds hands with Rapunzel as they sneak. And not well.

It's now days (nights…) later that she's tugging at Rapunzel's hand to pay attention as they sneak out of the Corona castle during a gala. Too many eager ambassadors and un-wed aristocrats have offered to fill her dance card after having seen Prince Hans lead her onto the dance floor repeatedly (against her will). Rumors circulate that she _does_ dance, she simply requires the right persuasion. This leads her to find an ally in Princess Rapunzel, who suggests going to a quaint little pub just outside town, where no one will know who she is.

"Come on, come on, come on!" Elsa chants, the gleam in her eye rebellious and unfocused as she crashes into someone, head jarring backwards in shock.

Elsa's eyes focus on the obstacle and her smile brightens, "Hans?"

"Last I checked," he grins. "Where are you two off to?"

They are standing in a dark hallway along a back corridor of the castle, near an unguarded exit.

Elsa tries to suppress her grin, the thrill of being _defiant_ singing to her, "What makes you think we are off to anywhere?"

Rapunzel laughs as she points to Eugene who is standing beside him, "He likely already knows our plan. He and Eugene have been friends for _years._ I'm willing to bet that Eugene has let him in on our little adventure."

Elsa is genuinely startled as she looks to Hans, "Really?"

"Why do you look so surprised at the notion I have friends?"

"You are friends with my cousin?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"How come I didn't know that?"

"Didn't you ever read my letters?

"When was the last time you wrote me?"

"Why is that pertinent?"

Eugene interrupts, "Just an observation, but you two can't seem to talk without asking questions. I'm only getting bits and pieces, of course."

Hans and Elsa pause, staring at Eugene.  The hash steps of a nearby guard can be heard.

His eyes dart to Hans, "If I might add, it's a slightly aggressive way to talk. And as much as I appreciate it, can you two please argue as we walk?"

"Where are we going, exactly?" Elsa asks, realizing that perhaps she should have some clarification.

"The Snuggly Duckling!" Eugene exclaims with a gleam in his eyes, "Let's blow this shindig."

And they do.

And the place is terrifying.

But her cousin seems perfectly at ease, as is Prince Eugene. And more importantly, Hans.

She finds herself clinging to the arm of Hans' jacket with far more urgency that she'd care to admit, however. After a tankard of ale, and watching Hans and Rapunzel sing happily with the other patrons (he has a wonderful voice, she's certain he'll be singing softly to her in her dreams), she's far more at ease than she was at first and soon finds herself _enjoying_ the experience.

And she grins stupidly at the thought that her trip this year to the annual peace summit will likely prevent her from attending next year's.

Night is tipping to day before she's back in her chambers, still grinning and giggling and _happy._ Gerda tucks her in, turns down the lamps and wishes her sweet dreams.

And she does (although her incubus has become a siren, calling her softly in song).


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Still trapped in Corona, picking up from the last chapter. And I am making an assumption that Arendelle and the Southern Isles (Magical Norway and Denmark...I suspect), would practice Lutheran doctrine, as Norway and Denmark officially had in the 1840's. I also finally gave Hans' mother a name, I couldn't figure out if Disney has officially named her, if anyone knows - please let me know!

**_Three years earlier..._ **

"Queen Elsa, I would be honored if you would accompany me on a stroll through the solarium."

It's an entirely different Westergård requesting an audience with her.

"Of course," Elsa blinks, gaze meeting eyes that are green like spring with a soft twist of a smile, "Your Majesty."

Queen Alessandra.

Her Aunt Primrose's afternoon tea is informal and thus no protocol to keep to for the affair, so their departure is no of consequence. And since only female Royalty have merited an invitation, Elsa scolds herself for not having better prepared for the possibility of a private interaction with Hans' mother. The foolish distraction her youngest son has posed is mostly to blame.

_(Irritating man.)_

It is with a certain degree of trepidation Elsa rises from her seat, but not before steadying herself and fixing her regal mask in place.

Rules of etiquette and the prescribed procedures of formal conversation are completed by the time the two women reach the fragrant blooms beautifully displayed throughout the grand conservatory, plants thriving despite the cold snap which resulted from the storm passing through earlier in the week. It is truly an architectural marvel, the amazing walls of nothing but clear glass, that flood the room with afternoon light, warming the beautiful space like a perpetual spring day.

Hans' Queen Mother carries herself with effortless grace as she walks beside Elsa, stylishly adorned in jewels and maroon silk that complement the short golden crown woven into her silvered locks. The sun plays off her hair in is such a way that it hints of the auburn that Hans inherited from her. Elsa glances at her profile as she speaks, deciding that despite her age, Queen Alessandra is truly a _beautiful_ woman – likely breathtakingly so in her youth.

The conversation eventually falls to Anna, congratulatory words offered for the birth of Prince Kristoffer which Elsa accepts warmly – her _Little Prince Charming_ being her favourite subject. Elsa would later worry that she may have monopolized the conversation and been too open regarding the babe, but she misses him terribly and couldn't help the words that tumble out for him. The Queen listens attentively, adding her own excitement regarding the birth of her seventh grandchild late last year, a perfect and quite chubby little blonde granddaughter with an " _adorable laugh"_ that has the Queen absolutely smitten.

Queen Alessandra pauses to admire a blooming shrub, "I confess that selfishly I began to wish for a daughter following the birth of my third son," she smiles ruefully, eyes twinkling like she's confessing something aloud that she's not to speak of and it makes Elsa smile in return. "The male heirs being so desirable for continuing the direct claim to the throne in the Southern Isles – I suppose my King would have found such thoughts rather fanciful. The want for a daughter."

Absently, Elsa realizes the Queen is right, then decides that it was odd that her parents never had any children following Anna (and in the same heartbeat, maybe not so odd). She'd wager the desire to hide the truth of her magic was stronger for her Father than the need to continue his Line. Elsa bites at her cheek as she resists the huff of annoyance that accompanies her thoughts.

_Nice._

The Queen muses, "I imagine your own mother felt pressure to bear a son, as most women do. Especially a Queen."

Elsa remains silent, watching a butterfly delicately walk atop a large red and yellow bloom of some sort, something that doesn't grow in Arendelle and she can't quite name. She won't speak for her mother (she fears the only pressure her mother had was to bear a _non-magical_ heir, which she did successfully), or agree with the antiquated sentiment that there is particular pressure for a Queen to bear a son. As the sovereign ruler of her own kingdom, she has the luxury to be as forward thinking as she wants to be regarding such things.

The Queen seems to think nothing of the rather one sided conversation, motioning gracefully to a pair of upholstered benches near a small fountain. She smiles kindly as she leads them toward the seats, "It's such a different relationship than with a son. The connection, between mother and daughter, I mean."

"Obviously my own experiences are strangely unique," Elsa says as she daintily perches on the edge of the cushion across from the Queen, folding her hands into her lap, "and thus I fear I have no real point of natural reference regarding such things."

The Queen smiles warmly in understanding, leaving Elsa to feel slightly more at ease and she decides that in private, Hans' mother has a benevolent presence _._ It leaves her anxious tendencies forgotten, and Elsa's guard begins to drop.

"Although, it's hard to be a courtier," the Queen hums before adding thoughtfully, "The intrigues and games that are played in pursuit of status, and for the lucky, a crown, are terribly harsh and quite cruel." She dips her chin and glances at Elsa, "I knew it well, obviously."

The slightly self-depreciating twist of her smile reminds Elsa _so much_ of Hans – and she begins to wonder how similar they really are. It may explain why he relishes irritating his Queen Mother so.

"You know, your aunt and late mother and I were occasionally at court together, although I was older," she reminisces, "I knew of them, and their ambitions."

_Ambitions?_

"Did you know them personally?" That thought had never occurred to Elsa. She knew that her Aunt and Queen Alessandra were _friendly_ at this time, or so Elsa presumed after watching the two over the last week, but -

"No, not really. Just of them, and nothing truly personal or of real consequence. But one must remember that every young woman at court is aspiring to catch the eye of a man of higher status, not befriend the competition. The whole thing drives me _mad_ now, watching it all unfold from your generation." The Queen sighs as she gestures slightly confused, "Frankly I question what the world is coming to at times with the loosen morals of many of the ladies of the Southern Isles court."

Elsa had never really given any thought to _how_ exactly her parents came together – her Mother simplifying their relationship when asked, _"I caught his eye one afternoon at court, and from then was fate."_ Being an adult with eyes wide open, she imagines there is _far_ more to their tale, but is unsure if she really wants to know it. But the Queen's observations regarding the morals of the courtiers is something she absolutely agrees with…

Queen Alessandra's lips quirk in a way that leads Elsa to loosen her tongue, and she finds she can't suppress the smirk that accompanies, "I fear it may not just be in the Southern Isles court."

The Queen laughs, light and easy, "Reassuring yet discouraging words you share, my dear."

"May I speak freely, Queen Elsa?" asks the Queen softly, a kind and reassuring smile gracing her features.

"Yes, of course." Elsa presses her shoulders back and allows her own smile to once again slip into place.

"I confess that I have made unfair judgements regarding your character over the years," she begins seriously, "I admit to having been influenced by biases and assumptions derived from my impression of your late parents."

Elsa can feel tension shivering up her spine and frustration building in her chest in that moment, having been successfully caught off guard by the abrupt change in conversation. Elsa's lips part as she collects her thoughts, possible responses lined up on her tongue.

She settles on, "May I ask what has led you to such a conclusion? "

"Quite frankly, Hans."

"I beg your pardon, Your Majesty," confusion tainting Elsa's voice, "I fear I'm not following."

"Your assentation to the thrown was, what? Seven years ago?"

"Yes," Elsa replies carefully, "This summer will mark the eighth year of my reign."

Queen Alessandra pauses, like weighing her words. She watches Elsa for long moments before saying softly, "I believe a weaker, insecure woman would have executed Hans for his, shall we say - _transgressions,_ against your crown and for toying with the affections of your sister."

It's a veiled complement, and Elsa is unsure how to accept it. But in the moment she must. "I would agree. Although, it wasn't simply sparing his life, ma'am. Forgiveness was offered."

"Oh, I am aware. It was a brilliant way to portray the nobility of grace." She pauses and clasps her hands together to rest in her lap, "Truly a clever and insightful method to balance public perception and sway any rhetoric following the events of your coronation." The Queen seems to focus her gaze over Elsa's shoulder momentarily as she adds, "Ultimately dissuading any opinions that your actions were or are unpredictably aggressive and rooted in malice."

_Evil, is what she's getting at._

Elsa is honestly startled by her words, painfully accurate when she reflects back on that day. That is, from a certain point of view. She was determined not to allow fear of her and her magic to perpetuate, at least in that manner, and needed to ensure that she portrayed the image of a wise Queen who would rule with a fair and just hand.

_But honestly it was the right thing to do in the eyes of God. Damn what others thought._

But Elsa can't manage to respond aloud.

"I find that you are not the coward that was your Father," the Queen continues as Elsa sits silently, "Nor the timid mouse that was your Mother."

Elsa can feel her breath caught, alarmed by the bluntness of the Queen's words. Words she has thought in her own head but _never_ spoken.

_No. I'll not stand for this._

Like a reflex Elsa snaps quietly as anger fuels her heart to race, "Those cruel thoughts are better kept to one's self, ma'am, and not shared with a daughter who still carries pain regarding their loss."

Queen Alessandra's smile is apologetic yet proud, like Elsa has just proven her point and she regrets posing the challenge, "I beg your pardon my dear; please trust that there was no ill will in my words." Her voice is calm and reassuring, "I recognize the love and the grief you carry for your late parents."

Elsa's voice is short, "Yes."

"I only share such thoughts as explanation for my presumptions as I ask for your understanding and forgiveness for them."

Elsa is _angry,_ and uninterested in further conversation with the woman. Confused and betrayed and she draws a quick breath as her lips part to bid an abrupt fair well when the Queen continues carefully with a smile that falters, "Hans has harbored a deep obsession for you," she pauses heavily, "and for Arendelle. It began long before your coronation."

Elsa's breathe rushes from her lips as she forgets to move.

_Oh._

_Of course this is where she is going with all of this._

Elsa clenches her jaw tightly as she drops her chin, silently begging the Queen to stop. To stop saying everything that privately lives in her mind, unspoken, because hearing it aloud is leaving her _naked,_ exposed and raw _._

_I'm Hans' obsession…_

She had suspected as much, really. From the moment she met him – he was _too_ perfect: a beautiful, fair Prince offering her the opportunity to have her ideal companion at her side, to live the fairy tale. And if it had not been for her _curse,_ she would have allowed him to court her, to live it.

But she didn't. Allow it.

_(And we all know what happened next. His plans changed and she evolved into a monster.)_

His Queen Mother continues, "I know the pain of ambition, and seen obsessions claim what little humanity may remain in a man. I do not wish to see him destroy your kind heart, as he has had opportunity presented to him to establish a relationship with you, and perpetuate his obsession."

The solarium falls silent as Elsa desperately keeps the freeze from chilling the air. She raises her chin, a flash of defiance in her eyes, "I assure you, I already know of his interest. Although I am unsure if I would characterize it as a persistently disturbing pre-occupation that compels him to seek me out."

_(She never knew…stupidly. Perhaps on some level she did, with a certain degree of uncertainty, but never admitted it to herself.)_

"Hans plays the games at court expertly. He's always been quite calculating. Able to decipher someone's intentions and desires easily, then reflect exactly what they want so he can get what he needs, whatever that is." Queen Alessandra sighs, "I should know. I was successful with my intrigues as well."

Elsa finds herself simply staring at the crown of gold rested atop the Queen's head.

Her gaze snaps back to meet the Queen's when the Queen confesses, "I have been preventing your correspondence with him, praying his interest in you, and Arendelle, would wane."

"Thank you for your admission, but I suspected your interference," Elsa's pulse bounds hot with anger, yet she keeps her voice level, "Please trust your actions were unwarranted, as well as unwanted."

Elsa pauses, catching the glint of frost at the toe of her shoe, and mentally curses herself before thawing it.

"I like you, Queen Elsa," Queen Alessandra says as her lips twist with something like admiration, "And, I don't often say that with any honestly."

"Do you now?"

Queen Alessandra's smile pulls wide as her voice fills with humor, "Yes, my dear. I say it with honesty."

"Thank you," Elsa can't manage to return what would be false flattery or a blatant lie, as she feels nothing but contempt at the moment for the woman. So she doesn't. "I would like to ask that you cease any further interference with my interactions with Hans."

Queen Alessandra seems genuinely startled by her request, studying Elsa in the blink of an eye (and Elsa wonders what she sees).

"You've grown rather fond of him, haven't you?" Queen Alessandra says quietly, her smile fading.

"Yes, and no."

The Queen raises an eyebrow, "I've noted that you seem to allow Hans access to you in a manner that you don't allow any others. Court protocol and etiquette seem to be non-existent in his interactions with you, he completely disregards his station and yours. You allow him to speak out of place, command the conversation, and even permit him to use an argumentative tone to which you do not reprimand." Queen Alessandra leans forward slightly as she lowers her voice as if speaking of scandal, "You even allow him to initiate physical contact with you."

Elsa's heart is racing with the Queen's words and she digs her fingernails into the palm of her folded hand, suppressing the frost trying now trying to erupt from her fingers. She's humiliated to hear such a blunt synopsis of her way with Hans.

_A bloody accurate one, at that._

"There is talk that you are allowing him to quietly court you."

_Wait. WHAT?!_

"On the contrary," Elsa says carefully, somehow calm and masking her shock at the presumption, "In fact, I have asked that he do nothing of the sort."

The Queen's disbelief was palpable, "And he was amenable?"

"Yes," Elsa says flatly, as if insulted she would be questioned. Her stomach is churning fiercely as bile threatens her throat, "I seek his friendship, nothing more."

Elsa can't believe she's having this conversation, and finds herself silently praying to awake any moment in her bed and away from this twisted reality.

"If I may offer, that could prove disastrous. For you both. But I respect your decision."

Elsa hitches an eyebrow.

"I suspect you may be playing your own game with him," Queen Alessandra smirks as her chin lifts quizzically, "One that very clearly he can't see unfolding before him."

She studies Elsa for a moment before she huffs a small laugh, "Very good."

Elsa wants to argue, to stack her reasons for why she won't play games and that's not at all what is motivating her. Because. NO. This is not toying with man to break him, simply because she can. But Elsa suspects that such an explanation for her desired friendship is the only way to exit the conversation and get what she wants.

Queen Alessandra to stop meddling.

So she makes not further attempt to correct Hans' Queen Mother, realizing that by failing to do so, she will allow the Queen to have as truth that she is simply toying with Hans. Just as she has known Hans to do unrelentingly over the years with many women, leaving them who knows how (perhaps broken).

_It would be contrapasso._

_(Divine Revenge…fulfilling poetic justice of a destiny freely chosen by each soul during his life.)_

So Elsa holds her gaze intently as she mirrors the woman's smirk, "Then I have your word? You'll cease your interference."

"Yes."

* * *

Hours later Elsa finds herself in the private chapel at the Corona castle, something calling her to kneel before God and ask for his forgiveness and divine guidance.

Because she feels _despicable._

Her head is lowered in reverence as she enters, pausing to dip her finger in the font of holy water beside the door and marking the sign of the cross to herself. The staccato of her steps interrupt the silence of the sanctuary as she strides down the aisle to be seated in a pew near the altar. She's almost to the front pew before she glances up and realizes she's not alone.

_Hans._

Hans is knelt towards the nave, facing the ornate cross hanging behind the altar, his forearms resting upon the pew before him with his head bowed and eyes shut. He holds in his gloved hands beautiful golden crucifix upon a yellow gold and onyx beaded chain – a rosary, Elsa realizes. He rolls one of the beads between his thumb and forefinger almost absently as she stops.

She suddenly feels as if she is interrupting something private and something she is not meant to see (this whole trip has scrambled her brain), and she didn't really want to be seeing _HIM_ at the moment, anyway.

So she turns silently on the ball of her foot to depart.

"Please stay," he murmurs _wonderfully_ to her, not opening his eyes as he draws the next bead in line through his finger and his thumb to begin rolling it in prayer. His words are not spoken with any seduction or command, just filled with some sort of need that she can't explain but feels as well. And she wonders how he knew it was her approaching him.

Her voice is a hushed whisper as she stays firmly planted in the aisle, "I don't wish to interrupt you."

"Pray with me."

She blinks, absolutely astonished. She feels as if she's trapped in another world where up is down and nothing is as it should be (on this golden afternoon). Her mind goes blank as she shifts her weight to face him.

"I believe you have just spoken three little words to me," she pauses to wet her lips, "that I would have bet my life upon never hearing escape from your lips."

His eyes open in a flash with his boom of laughter, surprised and jovial. His amusement causes his shoulders to roll forward and his hand to fist around his rosary to stop from dropping in onto the pew in front of him. He shakes his head as he glances at her ruefully, and she can't stop her own giggle from joining his to fill the air.

"I'm sorry," she says, each word slick with disingenuity. Her lips quirk, she's gleefully amazed that she's not sorry at all as she proceeds to slide into the pew to join him.

"Well, now you have interrupted me," he chuckles as he shifts off his knees, skootching to sit beside her as he knocks the kneeler to be folded out of the way under the pew before them.

She giggles at his scolding.

"So you're not at all sorry?" His eyes blow wide in disbelief, "Interrupting a pathetic sinner in prayer as he's begging for forgiveness?"

She sighs, rolling her eyes at him and whispering, "No."

His grin is playful, "Ah. You are _evil,_ after all."

Her breath escapes as a rushed laugh, "Why are you here?"

"As I explained, I am a sinner begging for forgiveness." His smile fads, "Through prayer I become stronger and can better face the unhealthy temptations in my life." He gaze shifts before his smile pulls back into place, "Like from _Evil Queens_ who interrupt my prayers."

She slouches down in the hard wooden seat, sliding to bump the back of her head against the pew as she raises her chin to gaze at the Rococo style archways.

"Why are _you_ here?" he counters as he mimics her informal posture.

"You." She muses, not looking at him, "And to pray."

"I'm flattered."

Her voice drops and darkens, "Don't be."

She can feel his eyes upon her, "Care to elaborate?"

"Not at this time. Maybe later." Honestly, she's not up for any further digestion of his Queen Mother's words.

His hum of acknowledgement is quiet, and accompanies the quick capture of her hand in his. He presses his rosary into her hand as he prompts, "Hail Mary, full of grace…"

Her head lolls to the side to find his profile, "I'm not Catholic. I don't know how to pray the Rosary." Hans remains silent so she fills it with, "Arendelle is Lutheran."

"Of course. As am I." He shrugs. "However, there is something cathartic in the monotony of the sequential prayers. I learned it from a rather open-minded Catholic priest years ago in Italy. Thus I endeavor to be as just as open-minded."

Elsa smiles slightly at that. There is a story there that she's dying to know, but won't ask.

"Honestly, it is a practice I have only continued when I feel overwhelmed and lost from the righteous path, as it allows me to clear my thoughts and focus on my relationship with God."

Elsa remembers their debates regarding religious doctrine from their letters years ago, how he could argue from such a conservative standpoint with amazing eloquence…it had impressed her. She then realizes he has just confessed something rather interesting. "You're lost?"

Without missing a beat he murmurs, "I'm beside you, aren't I?"

She groans in frustration and allows her elbow to find his ribs, "Stop it."

"Okay."

They sit, for almost an hour, in silence. Just holding hands with eyes rested closed and a golden crucifix pressed between their palms.

Elsa fears she may later regret not telling him about her conversation in the solarium…

* * *

Upon her departure, she finds his beautiful rosary upon her pillow and atop his letter.

(Upon his pillow, atop her letter, is a different rosary, made of her ice.)

* * *

The sky is black and banked with fog upon her arrival back in Arendelle. Her feet carry her straight to the Royal Nursery, despite the late hour, finding the nursemaid preparing to return her _Little Prince Charming_ to his cradle. She smiles relieved and scoops him from the nursemaid's arms, tears of relief threatening to stream should she open her eyes as she cuddles the babe close to her heart.

_I love you._

At the sound of the nursey door latching, she releases her exhale. And allows the tears to fall.

_What have I done?_

She's not at all in control (of her tears or of her feelings towards Hans) when she hears Anna quietly calling her name before pulling her into an embrace while she continues to hold Kristoffer.

"Stay home next year. Send Kristoff."

Elsa simply sobs harder.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first section of this chapter is "present day", subsequent scenes pick-up where we left off last chapter.

Her heart soars as she spots him, silently rejoicing at the chance he is willing to offer her and unable to suppress her smile. Hans is the lone figure, tall and proud in the dim morning light, waiting patiently for her among the rows of blooming cherry trees in the orchard beside the castle, overlooking the French countryside. His back is turned and thus unaware of her approach.

_He came!_

She was fearful that after everything she's done, everything she's said, the infuriating way she's danced around them, he wouldn't come. And she'd have to resign herself to the reality she'd mistakenly created.

The dawn's chorus fills the cool morning air as Elsa slips silently beside him where he stands under the branches heavy with pale pink cherry blossoms. The warmth of him radiates through the space between them and through the press of her skin as she weaves her hand into his, startling him slightly when she whispers in his ear, "You came, my Heroic Prince."

It's a fraction of a second before he twists towards her, hungry green eyes meet hers as he captures her lips and murmurs into her, " _I love you, Elsa."_ He's pulling her into his arms before she can catch her bearings and she finds herself melting into his chest.

"I love you."

Her words are soaking into his lips but he doesn't seem to mind. She decides she could do this forever, simply stand in his arms just kissing him and sharing sweet words of affection, exploring the different ways to smear her lips to his. There is a thrill coursing through her as she traces the crease of his mouth, as she practices nipping playfully at him in response to his breathless exploration of her. He eventually breaks from her as the passion cools from its initial rush and he presses his forehead to hers with eyes still closed, "I hate this. It hurts."

Her heart cracks, mirroring his pain but she had promised herself she'd be strong, "Me too. I'm so. So… _sorry."_

Hans sighs as he hauls her closer to drop his mouth to her ear, his voice stern yet soft, "Stop. I already told you – "

"I'm going to make this right. I promise," she interrupts, unable to hear what she is sure he is going to say, "Trust me."

His voice is hushed, "I shall never doubt you again."

And she believes him.

So her grin pulls wicked as she catches his gaze, "Maurice and I have a plan." It's taken all night, and she's literally just come from meeting with Maurice, and there's a lot to work out in a very short time, but she has to _try._

Elsa can only describe Hans' smile as conspiratorial as hope and excitement flare in his eyes. "Just tell me what to do," he replies, his voice full of promises of smoke and mirrors.

* * *

_Three years earlier..._

_Everything._

Elsa shares absolutely _everything_ with Anna about her trip to Corona while she sits rocking a sleeping babe in her arms and watching his sweet innocent little expressions shift in his sleep, his wet thumb loosely stuck in his mouth. He feels heavier in her arms than she remembers, _chunking up nicely_ as Kristoff puts it. Elsa feels he's growing too fast already and needs to slow down – his first tooth having cut while she was away. (Anna reassures her that it was for the best she was gone, the poor child had been quite cranky, and not _CHARMING_. And there would be more teeth to follow, so no worries missing this one.)

Elsa's confession slips easily from her lips, coming without her permission in a soft rush - like the only way to come to terms with the strange jumble of guilt and anxiety she's weighed with is to give it to Anna. Her tendrils of worry untwine slowly as she recounts her voyage, her anxiety and unsettled fear of being lost at sea during both the transit to Corona and the return home, the late arrival at the conference due to the storm and the unexpected attendance of Weaselton (and Anna-Marie), the awkward visit with family - Elsa adding that Rapunzel and Anna are absolutely kindred spirits, and that discovery was wonderfully comforting. She shares her mischief and rebellious act during one of the balls; the trip to the pub and the surprise that Hans _has friends_ (Anna is equally dumbfounded that his friends evidentially include Rapunzel and Eugene).

There is guilt twisting in her words as she spins her story, or rather _Gerda's version_ of her story; the one of the night she froze her chambers during the storm. Elsa even shares her _vivid and inappropriate dream_ , still not wanting to trust that it was entirely real. She describes the horrific shock of waking and finding Hans beside her. Just sitting on her bed drinking tea like it was perfectly normal, and Gerda chortling at her. (It was a dream. Hans said it was…it's his twisted truth now, she rationalizes, not hers. Besides, he lies about a lot of things, so what's one more?) She knows she's beet red and her speech is slightly stuttered, fragmented thoughts making it more uncomfortable to try and articulate everything. But she tries.

Anna just watches her, lips pressed flat.

Elsa holds back the harsh, cruel words of Queen Alessandra, lessening the blow and shock to Anna. She filters her words because she can't bear to hear her own voice speak such terrible things of her parents. Anna seems appropriately horrified and gets the point with what little she does say. She finishes with how she found Hans in the chapel, what he had said, and his gift to her upon her departure. (It's in her pocket, but she can't tell Anna that part because she's unsure how to explain it to herself…the _why_ it seems to be so important to her and thus in her pocket.)

Anna's expression is inscrutable as she quietly absorbs Elsa's words, occasionally she ask for clarification or to offer reassurances that she understands, but otherwise offers no interruption or commentary. It's not until Elsa's finished that Anna breaks her silence.

"You're my sister, and I love you – unconditionally," Anna says softly, slight shrug of her shoulders as she smiles reassuringly, "and there is nothing you can ever do or say that will change that."

The creases of Elsa's frown smooth at the way the heaviness in her chest lifts, "I love you, too."

"It sounds like you're not sure what to make of everything."

She hates that she struggles so much with people, understanding their feelings and motivations. Her confusion regarding her own emotions makes it so much harder. "I'm really not. That's why I need to know what you think."

Anna's smile pulls slightly wider for a moment before her expression shifts somberly, "Elsa, I think you need to sort this out yourself, you know?" She sighs, "You need to think long and hard about what you are trying achieve by being friends with that jerk."

_Oh._

Elsa takes a measured breath, but says nothing.

"Because very clearly you have no idea what your goal is. But others do – or they presume they do." Anna adds very carefully, "As much as I hate to agree with that horrible woman that Hans calls _MOTHER,_ she's right."

Elsa can feel the color drain from her face.

Anna rises to take Kristoffer from Elsa, quietly returning him to his cradle and providing silence for her words to settle in before offering Elsa her hand, "Your intentions are not clear. You have only ever danced with him, you spend time with him in a manner a couple would, and he's even been in your private chambers. The way you interact with him is…" Anna sort of gestures with one hand, "I don't know, almost inappropriate? Too familiar? It's like there are no boundaries between the two of you. I can see it from his Mother's perspective, if I didn't know better, it looks like you're allowing him to court you."

Elsa huffs her protest as she stands before Anna, but is silenced as Anna takes her shoulders gently and guides her out of the nursery, "Perception is everything, especially as gossip spreads at court."

"Anna..."

"Your _Most Important One_ is still talking," Anna says playfully, her smile twisting in her words and leading Elsa to breathe an amused chuckle. "You do realize that the consequences of your choices impact not just you, but all of Arendelle?" Anna pauses, but Elsa won't fill the silence. So she continues, "I'll bet that he's making his own assumptions about what your intentions are and where he may one day fit into your life, and in Arendelle."

"I told him _no_ ," Elsa sputters, "I – I told him…"

Anna cocks an eyebrow, "I heard."

She hesitates, glancing to Anna quickly before opening her mouth and closing it once, like she's hopelessly searching for the right words before she sighs, continuing her shuffle down the dark hall, "I-"

Anna shakes her head and she gives Elsa a gentle shove towards her chambers, "Go to bed. Sleep. Now. Right now." She darts to the side and pecks a kiss to Elsa's cheek, "Just think about it, Elsa. And welcome home. I love you."

"I love you, too."

_Bossy Anna is the best, however she didn't really help._

* * *

Sanctions imposed by Arendelle against Weaselton following the events of her coronation are slowly lifted.

The whole thing leaves Elsa terribly uncomfortable, as well as feeling guilty for wanting to hold the sins of Lord Fredrick's father against him. The trade agreements and peace accords which resulted from the summit and delivered to her council are more than fair, but something feels wrong. Her council seems to disagree entirely, unanimously supporting the motions, so she yields to her advisors and trade with Weaselton is resumed after eight years of embargos.

There was a maritime agreement proposed by her Fleet Admiral which would support allowing the reinstatement of naval operations once more by Weaselton, backed by every kingdom in attendance of the peace summit. Except the Southern Isles.

Elsa can't help but read into that a little. Or not.

_(Hans and his prior relationship with the now Duchess of Weaselton. He said there was "nothing", but she doesn't trust that.)_

She struggles to rationally explain _why_ she feels Arendelle should follow the lead of the Southern Isles. Instead she falls back on her thoughts that given the Southern Isles maritime superiority and well developed strategy abilities, Arendelle should also not support the motion. Her Admiral is immediately offended that his expertise and wisdom are questioned, arguing with Elsa to the point that she decides she won't tolerate it any longer and leads her to end the meeting.

_(It is one night, after Elsa's fuming rant regarding the disagreement with her Fleet Admiral, that Anna points out that that the Fleet Admiral's daughter is now married to the Duke of Weaselton. She goes on to further theorize that her Admiral may have once hoped to have Hans court and wed his daughter, if there was indeed some sort of romantic interlude between them. Elsa feels ridiculous for not having realized that sooner…she knew on some level, but the importance of that fact is suddenly far more significant as she tries to decipher her Admiral's motivations. The value in listening to court gossip becomes apparent, as well.)_

Meeting after meeting with her Fleet Admiral is rather abruptly ended without resolution of Arendelle's position on the proposal when it is brought up. Such becomes the pattern for the next few months.

It leaves Arendelle and the Southern Isles the only two countries in the region to oppose the motion, so the ban is lifted by the end of the summer – allowing naval activity by Weaselton to resume. Her Fleet Admiral is overly pleased as he delivers the news, fixing a hard stare at Elsa that causes her blood to run cold. Unsettled, she moves the meeting along, but fails to shake her concern.

* * *

The arrival of Hans' first letter causes her to feel slightly ill. The physical appearance of the envelope in her hands leaves the consequences of her misleading actions to seem far too undeniable.

_No. I'm not toying with his affections to break him. Not at all. We're friends._

Anna takes note of the letter's arrival, as well as Elsa's delay in reading it, mentioning as much at a private tea in her private chambers one afternoon. Elsa is left once again confessing her conversation with Hans' Queen Mother, relaying the Queen's impression that Elsa is trying to toy with him, and the Queen's agreement not to interfere any further (thus condoning such an act against her own son).

Anna just rolls her eyes.

_"Yeah, Elsa. I remember what you said…disgusting and manipulative family. Blah...blah…blah."_

The subject is immediately forgotten as Kristoffer suddenly appeared at Elsa's feet, crawling for the very first time, and squealing gleefully as he smacks the top of Elsa's pump.

"Anna!" Elsa laughs excitedly, scooping her nephew up and into her lap to face her. Kristoffer laughs and claps his hands once before trying to twist out of Elsa's arms and back to the floor, a look of determination setting in his blue eyes. "He's crawling!" Lifting him to kiss his cheek before sitting him back on the rug, Elsa says sadly, "He's growing far too fast."

"Little stinker!" Anna adds affectionately, beaming a wide grin.

He shifts back to his knees and hands, awkwardly, the motions still uncoordinated but enough to begin his locomotion towards Anna.

He's really growing too fast.

* * *

It is after a tumbler of scotch that Elsa finally breaks the waxed seal, a crowned passant lion atop a XIII pressed into it. By the time she is pondering his scrolled _Hans_ at the bottom of the last page she feels better about everything, this is what she wanted. So her numb fingers excitedly write back.

He responds quickly to her correspondence. The strange twist of guilt quickly fades with the arrival of each letter, her concerns regarding her _"perceived intentions"_ are soon forgotten. His letters are just as they always were, eloquent accounts of his adventures, juicy tidbits of gossip from various courts, his thoughts on literature and philosophy, and sharing what he's reading to pass the time at sea. There is a noticeable lack of romantic conquests mentioned, however. Although it takes her a while to notice that. He writes of increasing skirmishes between his fleet and the growing Weaselton navy - Weaselton challenging international maritime law in such a manner that has Hans suspecting the Weaselton captains are attempting to get him to instigate a fight (and cryptically alluding to intelligence reports supporting his suspicious):

_Thus far I have successfully avoided such acts, but I confess that Weaselton's unfoundedly aggressive maritime activities are beginning to crack my resolve. The obvious persistence of their fleet seems to go unnoticed by other Kingdoms. I suspect that they are simply avoiding any perceived involvement to prevent escalating these "interactions" - likely figuring that I can handle it myself (please trust that I can). None the less, it has been entertaining, and excellent training for my younger commanders who have not yet had the experience of live battle at sea. It also allows me to avoid home far more easily, although now I am forced to consider more creative methods to irritate my dear Queen Mother._

_I inadvertently stumbled across one such method – altering my morning toilette to forgo the blade. The seas had been quite rough over the previous weeks and I felt it was safer to avoid a sharp blade so close to the vital blood supply in my neck than to allow vanity to dictate my appearance._

_My Queen Mother was most appalled upon my arrival home._

_I confess that I must agree that the facial hair is terrible; it is irritating and itchy and most unbecoming a Prince. But after such a splendid reaction from her I insisted on keeping it. Any suggestions of new methods and ways to irritate her, my Evil Queen, would be greatly appreciated. I trust your truly diabolical nature may lend itself to such a task._

_I have the honour to be, Madam, Your Majesty's humble and obedient servant,_

_Hans_

* * *

Her harbors freeze, winter comes and goes, and as soon as the harbor can be wrenched open with the early spring thaw she's off to France.


	15. Chapter 15

**_Two Year earlier…_ **

_Prince Maurice, Duke of Orleans -_ Elsa has been left standing stupidly at the sight of him.

Perhaps it's a result of her long voyage, or the (what seemed) even longer carriage ride to the provincial French castle that is his home, but regardless, she's been caught off guard. Entirely.

"Enchanté, Queen Elsa."

Elsa feels as if she is the one _enchanted,_ left under a curious spell that has resigned her to the most fundamental of functions. Time actually stops still as her blue eyes meet his, flushing a shy smile as Prince Maurice presses his lips to her hand.

To. Her. Hand.

And she doesn't protest.

(She would later reflect on that moment to realize that Hans was the only other man to have ever pressed his lips to her hand, rather than just motion and stop, hovering above it. And she won't be sure what to make of that.)

Tall and refined, Prince Maurice is a striking mix of imposing masculinity with what Elsa can only describe as fine construction. Simply put, he is easily the most handsome man she has ever met. His dark blonde hair is perfectly combed, casually falling in waves that gently move as he shifts so his clear, peaceful blue eyes meet hers once more. He is dressed in the finest of fashion, the dark blue velvet of his coat accenting his coloring perfectly.

She is bewildered to find her breath stolen from her chest as a flutter ripples through her ribcage, her words left faltering. "Gorgeous. You're…ah. – Ah. I'm sorry," she tries as she's left stumbling over herself to regain what may remain of her dignity, "That is, the countryside. Is breathtaking. Simply gorgeous."

And she smiles demurely.

_Oh. Yes. Very smooth, Elsa._

She resists rolling her eyes at herself as she momentarily feels an awful lot like Anna, all twisted and tongue-tied.

Prince Maurice smiles warmly as he straightens, "Yes, beautiful."

She suspects, from the way his eyes are drawn to hers, he's coquettishly referring to her and not the picturesque French scene.

(At least Hans would be.) She blushes.

"I would be honored to escort you on a more extensive tour of my fair country during your visit. I pray you find my offer amenable." He's gentle and refined, intelligent eyes sparkling in the afternoon sun.

Simply perfection.

Elsa sighs (dreamily) before she catches herself and lifts her chin a little higher as her confidence, and senses, return to her. She nods slightly, "Thank you, your Highness. I daresay I may accept your offer. I would enjoy seeing Paris."

They proceed with the formal introductions of her accompanying staff and tour of the castle.

_("As you can see, the pseudo-façade was stripped away to reveal the minimalist Rococo design. Note the unusual inverted vaulted ceilings," Maurice says in a pretentious tone, eyes twinkling with mirth as they dart to the elderly man walking behind. Cogsworth, if she remembers correctly. She gets the distinct impression that none of this is for her benefit. Elsa breathes an amused breath as Maurice chuckles to himself before pulling back into his dry character, "This is yet another example of the late neoclassic Baroque period. And, as I always say, "If it's not Baroque, don't fix it!" Elsa chortles as she catches a voice (suspiciously similar to the one the Prince was mimicking) scolding the French Prince, "Yes, very amusing. Glad to see you've paid attention to what I have said over the years." Maurice winks at Elsa with a cheeky grin.)_

She decides she likes him.

After the initial flutter of nerves have settled, she finds she's perfectly at ease in his presence – something that's never happened so readily upon meeting someone.

Anyone.

They part at her appointed guest chambers as he apologizes that he must tend to a previously arranged rendezvous. Elsa pauses, trying to identify any fluttering of nervousness or flush of warmth when her eyes meet his, similar to how Hans affects her. And she can't find it. He's wonderful, and perfect, but she feels no _pull._

But he is very handsome and kind, and she has thoroughly enjoyed his company, so she smiles graciously.

"Merci beaucoup, Votre Altesse," Elsa murmurs.

"You are quite welcome, Your Majesty," He says quite sincerely, "And please, just Maurice."

She smile wider with his words, "Elsa. Just Elsa."

* * *

Hundreds of years of complex tradition and pageantry dictate every movement and word within the French castle, Elsa finds. It's a bit odd, how scripted and weighted with customs each interaction feels. After just a day, she can predict the pattern of each meeting, the intonation of every voice, and each entrance and exit of those she interacts with.

Except for Maurice.

He's wonderfully unpredictable, and she finds herself draw to him. There is something there that is akin to her, and she's unsure what that is. Perhaps just a sense that he is _different._

Perfectly imperfect.

_Something odd._

At breakfast the first morning, Maurice has his nose is buried in the pages of a Latin manuscript - _Utopia,_ Elsa makes out from the worn binding. He breathes not a word the entire meal, the burden of conversation falling to his parents who have arrived for the visit as well (turmoil in Paris has led them to host Elsa in the countryside estate, rather ask her to endure the daily tension at Versailles). The _Dauphin,_ Prince Henri, remained in his father's place to promote civility and discourse in this season of unrest. It is as Elsa rises to join King Adam for a meeting with the ambassador to Arendelle (and hers to France) that Maurice snaps the book closed with a flourish as he rises as well, bowing gently. Queen Belle had commented quietly earlier that of her sons, Maurice was the one who had developed an affinity to the written word similar to her own passion. She spoke with such fondness and pride that Elsa couldn't help but be a bit envious of the love evident in Queen Belle's words. She can't resist commenting as she passes Maurice, "Thomas More? He does make for an interesting breakfast companion."

"Ah, yes." His entire face brightens at the recognition before blushing at his lack of manners, "Forgive me, Queen Elsa. I couldn't put it down." He chuckles to himself before adding, "My Father accuses me of forgetting myself at times."

Elsa nods, "Please, no apologies. The pursuit of knowledge and wisdom is a noble one, Prince Maurice."

He looks at her as if he is finally _seeing_ her. And blinks.

"Care to join me this afternoon in my Mother's library?" He asks suddenly, "It's exquisite."

Out of the corner of her eye, Elsa catches Queen Belle smile.

* * *

It is amazing.

The library is one fit for a university, Elsa finds. The afternoon passes quickly as Elsa loses herself in debating Marcus Aureleus with Maurice, then later Rousseau _(The Social Contract),_ to which he teases her regarding her " _…proclivity for treasonous material."_

She laughs, comfortable and _happy,_ "I feel that I have made enough of a fool of myself, sharing my incendiary thoughts."

His smile seems to come just as comfortably as hers.

A butler enters around the same time tea is served, to present his mail. Elsa glances up from stirring in her sugar to catch the small stack of personal correspondence that he quickly thumbs through. Maurice pauses at the sight of one envelope in particular as his pupils dilate slightly before remembering himself and quickly tucking the letter away in his pocket. Glancing away, she can't help but notice the seal of an envelope resting atop the stack he leaves on the tray to return to his study, red wax with a crowned passant lion and a XIII.

Hot jealously rushes irrationally through her with her next heartbeat, not having had the luxury of Hans' correspondence over the harsh winter. She wonders if there is a letter awaiting her at home. She finds the excitement of anticipation has taken hold with that thought and snuffed out the misplaced jealously quickly.

She mentally rolls her eyes at herself.

_Jealous of a man!_

Her lips quirk embarrassed as she gazes into her tea.

The topic turns towards Heinrich Heine and Victor Hugo. Elsa becomes absolutely mesmerized by Maurice as he recites various pieces by rote, his voice pleasant and calm as he speaks - a perfect orator. She recites a dramatic piece of Hugo, _"Vous êtes singulier",_ having always adored Didier's words of affirmation of first love, to which Maurice kindly praises.

"Have you read _Les Orientales?"_

It is a newer collection of Hugo's she hadn't yet seen, although Hans has. She decides she will need to ask for his copy when she writes him later.

"No," Elsa sighs, "I haven't." She pauses, "Do you have it here? In your Queen Mother's library?"

"Yes." Maurice rises and rolls his eyes at her dramatically, as if offended by her question, "Of course." His tone is flat and bored when he cocks an eyebrow at her.

She giggles.

"I simply ask," He continues excitedly while trying to suppress a smile, scaling a ladder to reach a row of bound tomes above his head, "Because my dearest friend in all the world is performing in a new work by Ballet du Théâtre de l'Académie Royale de Musique in Paris. _Giselle._ The plot is from a prose passage about the Wilis in _De l'Allemagne_ as well as from _Fantômes."_

Elsa's eyes light up as she confesses, "I've never been to the ballet!"

He pauses, hitching his elbow up to rest on the shelf as he looks at her, dumbfounded. "What is it that you all do in Arendelle? I know it's a land often dusted in snow and covered in ice, but does no one dance? Is there no culture or arts?" How truly barbaric!" He selects a book from the shelf and begins waving it before him as he gestures - waving it around like it will start fire if he should stop motioning. "Arendelle faces truly insurmountable odds with such a cruel fate! Someone must save it!"

His lips quirk as she conjures a snowball and looks pointedly at him, daring him to continue prattling on.

"Ah. Touchy subject? I would be happy to offer any assistance I can to your backwards kingdom."

She lands the flurried globe on target, hitting the center of his chest with perfect precision as she woops a laugh at him.

Maurice grins as he dusts snow from his chest with his free hand, "Do mind the books – I daresay my Queen Mother regards them with higher value than the Crown Jewels."

* * *

Elsa finds herself spending a couple hours a day in the company of Prince Maurice, demands of King Adam and Queen Belle necessitating she fill her time accordingly. They visit Paris, spending the day at the Louvre, studying the works of the masters on display. After hours with antiquities, they move to the collection of sculptures – the great masterpieces done during the revival of the classical Baroque period being her favourite. The smooth marble is so _lifelike_ , with a sense of dynamic movement. It is as if the pieces beg to be studied like a central vortex, and she finds herself spiraling around each in reflection.

Prince Maurice teases that she will dizzy if she doesn't stay put. She points out he is the one who has indulged in the red wine throughout the afternoon (she's only had a glass with lunch). He grins.

"Notre-Dame de Paris," she breathes after he mocks her for her inability to remain still for the umpteen time.

"Pardon?" He appears genuinely confused by her train of thought.

She turns to take the arm that he's offered, "It's being renovated, yes? May I see it?"

Maurice's mouth pulls into a wry smile, "Asks _the Defender of the Faith?_ Lutheran, no?"

Elsa lifts her chin, slightly confused.

"What will your clergy think? Their Queen and Head of the Church in Arendelle _gallivanting_ about in a Catholic cathedral?"

_Oh. She hadn't thought of that._

All her correspondence over the years with Hans regarding religious doctrine and the teachings of Martin Luther during the Reformation helped to solidify in her own mind and heart what her faith and beliefs were, bringing her to a closer relationship with Jesus Christ. A better _Defender of the Faith._

_Because of Hans._

And as strange and wonderful as it was, he also inspired her to explore and understand other faiths as well – at least as a foundation to understand the world and cultures around her.

Elsa's lips quirk sadly as she realizes how badly she misses Hans in that moment, _longing_ to experience things such as this with him.

She stands silently beside Maurice, gaze unfocused and at the floor before her.

Maurice seems to notice the shift in her expression as he says softly, "I recognize that look, Elsa. If I may be so bold, it is not one of a woman pondering her religious beliefs."

Elsa blinks, horrified at the ease he seems to have invaded her thoughts. It is as her lips part to rebut that Maurice continues, "It is not my business, your personal affairs, but please trust I understand what you may be feeling. _Completely._ "

_Oh._

"Thank you," she manages with a small reassuring smile.

They visit the cathedral (albeit with a bit more teasing from Maurice), still undergoing extensive renovations to restore religious images to their former grandeur after having been decimated during the revolutions. Elsa can't stop finding the experience terribly surreal. She finds herself kneeling beside Prince Maurice in the dark gothic space as he pauses to pray before their long journey back to the castle. Her smile pulls deviant as her eyes meet his, removing Hans' rosary from her pocket to hold in her hands while she prays beside Maurice.

He leans over, an eyebrow raised and voice a hushed whisper, "There's a story here I am dying to know."

She shushes him with a chuckle, "It is unwise to interrupt pathetic sinners in prayer, especially _Evil Queens._ "

He grins wider as he bows his head again, eyes fluttering closed and leaving her in silence.

* * *

It is at the conclusion of her first week of her visit that King Adam hosts a grand ball in her honour, Queen Belle dressed in a golden gown and at Elsa's side all evening. Queen Belle smiles warmly as they watches Maurice accompany a young courtier in a folk dance of some sort, something Elsa is unfamiliar with and absolutely uninterested in attempting, what with its quick turns and halted movements.

Even at King Adam's invitation for a waltz, she flatly refuses.

"Thank you, really." She blushes as she gestures towards the graceful sea of dancers before her, "But I don't dance." Her right hand is still extended slightly when Prince Maurice appears, taking her hand with mischief wrinkling his eyes as he grins, "Please excuse us, Father."

King Adam grins approvingly.

Elsa startles as he begins to lead her away, "What are you doing?"

"I've arranged for a little dance lesson," he says proudly. "And protesting would be futile."

Elsa lips quirk, "I suppose I have no choice then, do I?"

* * *

Maurice has an elegantly appointed salon of his personal friends awaiting, including the _Prima_ from the ballet they will be attending the following night. Elsa notes that many of the guests are dancers and artists, philosophers, writers and musicians and _brilliantly talent_. Maurice's influence and position supporting the arts in Paris becomes quite evident.

She has never felt so _plain._

It requires a flute of champagne for Elsa to even admit that she does indeed _know_ how to dance, she just doesn't. Her confession is to Phillipe, whom Maurice introduces as his most dear friend who very kindly tries to coax her into _trying_ to dance.

"Be kind to him, he is an excellent dancer and I won't stand for you telling him _NO,_ or stepping on his toes before his performance tomorrow," Maurice teases.

Elsa and Phillipe's scolding comes in unison.

They glance at each other, startled before beaming a smile at each other.

She decides she likes him, too.

It is after another flute of champagne that Elsa finally allows Phillipe to practice her waltz. Phillipe is a profession dancer with the ballet, partnering the _Prima_ for  _Giselle,_  and he is amazingly graceful and confident as he leads her through the steps, correcting her gently and repositioning her form as they practice.  He is amazing, and she is pleasantly surprised that she is far from embarrassed as she giggles and _enjoys_ herself, admittedly not that bad of a dancer (or so Phillipe says – although she's confident he's a liar). But she blushes at the compliment regardless.

_There is a tiny, traitorous voice in the back of her mind that interrupts with, "I only dance with Hans."_

"Who is this Hans?" Maurice asks with a goofy grin, somewhere behind Phillipe, obviously having imbibed in a few flutes of champagne himself.

Elsa hadn't realized her thoughts were spoken aloud, "Ah." She glances over Phillipe's shoulder to catch Maurice shyly as she waltzes, "A friend."

"A dear friend?"

She freezes in place, eyes locked on Maurice. Despite the brief amount of time she has known him, there is an understanding, a deep friendship that has taken root. She feels safe and secure and she _trusts_ him. There are very few people she can say that about. So she allows the liquid courage to grant her the bravery she needs.

Although her voice is just a whisper, she says what she's never said before outloud. "The dearest in the whole world."

Maurice's eyes dart to Phillipe and back to meet hers, smiling sadly.

_Oh. OH!_

It is as if iced water drips onto her spine in that moment, understanding blooming with startled sobriety.

_THERE is the something odd about Maurice._

_She's sure._

_She and Maurice share a love of someone they can't have._

_Him a man. Her a traitor._


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a continuation of the last chapter. As I will be unable to update for awhile (vacations and work…real life!), I am putting it up now. And a reminder that this a more mature story, not graphic, but definitely broaching subjects that are not Disney, all warm and feel-y. Or always happy. There is a section of this chapter that serves as an example of such.

**_Two Year earlier…_ **

It is almost dawn before Elsa and Maurice are speaking quietly and alone in his salon, hours having been spent exposing the shameful and dark parts of themselves to each other - the parts that remain hidden and never spoken of. It has the effect of strengthening the bond forged between them during her visit.

She answers his question from earlier honestly.

_"_ _Who is this Hans"?_

_His Royal Highness, Prince Hans Westergård, of the Southern Isles._

Maurice has been friends with Hans for years, he says, which she suspected after noticing Hans' seal upon a letter earlier. She doesn't mention her nosey observation, however.

"We met in our youth," he says softly as they sit across from each other on the high-backed chaise lounge before the ornate fireplace, embers glowing and casting warm shadows across them. "We were still boys in many ways, struggling to identify ourselves and how to become the men we are pressured to become."

Elsa sits quietly absorbing the tales he shares. Of course, most of them revolve around the antics of Hans from his youth that she should probably never know of. Horse races, gambling, sneaking through the city at night and returning before dawn. Maurice even _vaguely_ recounts a sexual exploit of _theirs,_ a youthful exploration of passion and arousal without the emotional weight or conflict that comes with a deeper relationship with a lover – some sort of torrid alcohol fueled orgy, as it were. _Multiple young handmaidens and far too much wine….ending in immense sexual pleasure and an unimaginable headache in the morning._

Elsa feels foolishly naïve, unable to comprehend the _physical logistics_ of such an encounter.

_Wait. How? Everyone is just….all at once?_

Elsa blinks and stares with a furrowed brow at Maurice. He laughs ruefully.

"We are quite open-minded and _creative_ regarding such things here in France. That is, in certain regards," he shrugs nonchalantly as his humor fades.

Elsa can't get her head wrapped around how any of what he eludes to could even be possible. Physically. Two men and a single woman, joined by others…and how it could all be pleasurable. He chuckles as her overwhelming confusion persists, but refuses to offer further explanation.

"I fear I have already warped your innocent mind, Elsa. I shan't burden it further."

She protests, her curiosity completely destroying what was left of her common sense.

"Tell you what," he grins wickedly, "Ask Hans when you see him next. His mind will explode at the question escaping your lips."

Elsa smiles, but more confused so he adds, "I wish I could be a fly on the wall for _THAT_ conversation. I'd wager he turns bright pink and is left speechless. For probably the first time in his life."

The _Evil Queen_ in her tucks away that thought for later, lips quirking purposely.

Maurice tells of the expectations of princelings to explore and _sow their royal oats prior to marriage,_ without actually doing so or leaving a string of bastards to later claim in their wake. It was during such early exploitations of sexuality that Maurice realized his preference for the male form, and ultimately a desire for such as a lover and companion. He shares how he met Phillipe, has grown closer to him over the years as their _intimacy_ has become exclusively shared with one another. Illuminated by the dance of firelight across his face, Elsa finds the pain etched in his eyes of a love he is helpless to stop or change, a sense of desperation regarding any happy ending for them in the future.

"I take it day by day," he explains after she asks, "praying I can keep this up indefinitely."

"That's impossible." But she's had the same thoughts.

He scrubs his hands roughly over the sockets of his eyes momentarily as he groans his agreement, "Yes. But I am a _fils de France_. I am not entirely absolved of my responsibilities to the crown despite the fact I am not the _dauphin."_

Elsa huffs, unamused, "I suppose we all have expectations that burden us."

"Man is born free, but he is everywhere in chains," he muses dryly.

A short bubble of laughter escapes Elsa, "I don't think that Rousseau had this situation in mind when he wrote that. I don't think you can use it here."

Maurice chuckles, "It sounds good, though."

She hums gently as she repositions herself, resting her head on the back of the upholstered lounge.

"Forgive me, Elsa," Maurice starts, "I do not understand why you feel as if Hans would not be a suitable match. He is of the right age, he is a lesser Prince of a strong Kingdom which would provide for a dynastic alliance and strengthen Arendelle, would it not?" Elsa swallows thickly, remaining silent so he adds, "I had heard there was a fledgling engagement between he and your sister which was very short lived – surely that would not preclude you from considering…"

Elsa interrupts, "Stop. It is..." She wets her lips, "It's far more complicated than that, I'm afraid."

He vaguely knew of the events of Elsa's coronation, but was startled to hear the actual events as Elsa shares her story, understanding setting in his eyes. "Oh," Maurice says simply. "Complicated."

Elsa smiles weakly, "I am but a humble servant to my crown. I have not the luxury to be concerned with matters of the heart, such as those that are allotted to my sister." Elsa slumps further into the chaise and closes her eyes wearily, the weight of sleep threating to consume her should her eyes remain shut for too long. "Love is of no consequence to a monarch – merely trust and stability for the Kingdom they serve."

With that, she falls silent.

She awakens, hours later, with morning light cutting harshly through velvet curtains and across her face. She lifts her chin to find that she's been covered with a blanket at some point and Maurice is snoring softly at the other end of the lounge. Her lips twist as she shifts closer to him and he stirs, mumbling, "Keep it down over there." Elsa disregards his protests and pushes herself beside him, forcing him to embrace her or fall off the lounge. Her eyes flutter shut, sleep claiming her for a short time before Maurice groans something about her _ruining his reputation._

"Hm?"

Maurice mumbles, "My Queen Mother just found us, and rather than wake us to scold, she chose to shut the door behind herself. I suspect my poor Father shall be getting an earful, shortly." He pauses and huffs a laugh, "Although he will likely be quite pleased with any rumor that challenges my solemn vow that I shall remain a bachelor until I am old and grey rather than wed."

Elsa elbows him for that.

* * *

Elsa once again finds herself on the receiving end of a Queen Mother's invitation to walk and admire the flora (although this time, it is a French garden, not a Corinthian conservatory). She makes a promise to herself as she steps along the stone path that lazily twists through bulbs that are in bloom, to never ask a young woman who is friends with her darling nephew to walk with her through the gardens. Because she fears it always _ends badly._

Queen Belle smiles warmly, and Elsa senses none of the worrisome motivations or _angles_ that she felt from Queen Alessandra. There isn't even a flurry of anxiety when her _fondness_ for the Prince is mentioned. Although she curses herself for giving into her impulsive desire to rest beside him earlier in the salon. She's pretty sure that is what led to this little interlude.

Elsa smiles pleasantly, "I have grown quite fond of Maurice. He is extremely intelligent and thoughtful, although a bit _odd_ at times." She pauses to watch her fingers lace together in her lap before looking up, meeting the Queen's hazel eyes, "But so am I, I fear."

"I share this as a concerned mother, and nothing more," Belle begins, "He has always been _different_ , wonderfully so, should you ask me."

Elsa nods in agreement, but does not comment, curious as to how much the Queen may truly know about her youngest son.

"I was a peculiar young woman myself." She shrugs as she laughs quietly, " _Odd,_ as you put it. But it's funny how life seems to prepare one for the challenges, and opportunities, that are to be found as we learn to _live_."

Elsa's lip twitch into a smile, "I like how you put that. _Learn to live."_

"Maurice is struggling to do so, I fear. And I am unsure why." Belle looks out over the garden as she continues and Elsa gets the sense that she is almost talking to herself, "Afraid of failing or disappointing others, I suspect. But he never would."

The women remain silent for a time before Elsa braves changing the subject, "If you don't mind me asking, possessing magic of my own, I was curious about your husband and the enchantment he was under when you met."

"The curse," Belle scoffs, "A despicable way to treat a young man. It's true he was cruel, and did not allow kindness into his heart – he was unable, or unwilling, to see the beauty within others. But there were other, more meaningful ways, to open his eyes." Her gaze is firm, "If you ask me."

"I find that all tales of magic tend to simplify the actual events," Elsa says quietly.

Queen Belle smiles sadly, "I never believed there was any truth to the fairy tales I read as I grew. Tales of _Prince Charming_ and of _Sleeping Beauty,_ the tale of a love sick Prince searching for _the one_ he thinks he loves with nothing but her shoe to find her and offer marriage after a fairy godmother helps her to a ball."

Elsa smiles as she looks off into the distance, a grove of blossoming cherry trees appearing like soft pink fluff, "Nothing more than a fairy tale?"

"I suspect the stories end conveniently."

Elsa's eyes catch Queen Belle's once more, slightly confused, "How so?"

"My story, for example. I fall in love with a _Beast,_ my love breaks the spell before the last petal falls and he, and his castle, are restored to their former glory and form."

Elsa blinks, startled at the single sentence summation of Belle's experience as she met her husband and saved him from himself.

"You seem confused," Belle muses. "Naturally."

"You were wed, you have spent your life by his side and raising a family. I imagine you balance each other and are happy."

Belle smile pulls sharper, "Put simply."

Elsa frustrates, unable to understand what Queen Belle seems to want her to pull from all this. It must be evident on her face as Belle choses to continue.

"I am sharing something with you that I have rarely spoken of, and I ask you not share."

Elsa nods, appreciative of the trust Queen Belle seems to have in her. But unsure _why._

"I fell in love with him. _The Beast."_ Belle says softly, embarrassment twisting her words, "Not Adam."

Elsa's brow furrows.

"Of course, _The Beast_ was Adam, but not. The transformation didn't just return him to a human form, but changed him. Gone was his willingness to challenge and argue, allow his temper and anger to shine through, even when it was needed or absolutely appropriate. He was afraid of his emotions and forgot to consider that he wasn't _The Beast,_ and persisted for years like that."

She sighs, "We were wed almost immediately after his transformation, and what with the excitement of it all it seemed like the right thing to do. But then we were left trying to learn to live a life neither of us were prepared for, or expecting. Those years spent as _The Beast_ robbed him of time to prepare to rule France, and having been a cursed man – suspicion of him or his motives shrouded his ever action or choice. It plunged the Kingdom into chaos and social upheaval due to the mistakes he made, and the mistrust that was left as a result of the curse. And during it all, I was simply a peasant girl in a nice gown, seated on a throne that I never belonged on."

"Oh," Elsa manages dumbly, regretting asking the question regarding the curse to begin with.

Belle smile brighter, "As you can see, we rose to the challenge, we persevered and learned. We learned to live. Quite happily, I might add. But it's not necessarily a happily ever after, you see."

Elsa chuckles, "I can relate to the challenge and perseverance you mentioned you learned to face."

"I suspected as much, Queen Elsa. That is why I wished to speak to you." She rises and smooths her skirts before adding, "And that is why I absolutely support any friendship that comes between you and Maurice. I think you both can help each other."

"Thank you," Elsa says softly, "Truly."

* * *

 _Giselle_ was beautiful.

The simple tale of forbidden love and the devastating truth dramatically revealed caused Elsa to gasp. Phillipe as Albrecht, and the _Prima_ dancing Giselle were glorious, making the plot come to life so effortlessly – he looked so hopelessly in love with her that Elsa worried that Maurice may find watching everything terribly awkward.

_("No – I know what he looks like in love, and that's not it," Maurice muttered under his breath and caused Elsa to cough suddenly, covering her giggle.)_

And the ghostly women in white, the merciless Queen Myrtha and the Wilis, floating to heartbreakingly beautiful adagios, filled with such pain and conviction it leaves Elsa with goosebumps. Repeatedly.

Elsa can't stop gushing excitedly about the entire experience, much to Maurice's delight.

"I hate to leave tomorrow," she confesses as they stroll with arms entwined down the Champs Elysées that evening after the ballet, stopping to gaze into shop windows and watch the people come and go. "I have enjoyed myself immensely, Maurice. I am so thankful to have come to know you. I daresay, you are a kindred spirit in many ways."

He raises her hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss as he whispers, "I couldn't agree more. Delightfully unexpected to have found you as such a fast friend."

"Come to Arendelle. Help me to revitalize interest in the fine arts in my capital," she smiles.

Maurice's amused smile taints his words, "Your barbaric little Kingdom needs me, I fear."

"Bring the ballet – that will spark everyone's imagination and desire."

Maurice grins wider, "I shall endeavor to make it happen."

They pause before a jeweler's window, exquisite gemstones and timepieces displayed in the lamplight. There is a gorgeous ring of rubies, set in yellow gold beside a matching bangle bracelet, accented with small diamonds that are patterned in such a way they remind her of piles of snow. The craftsmanship of the pieces is simply magnificent, like a tiny works of art. She doesn't realize how long she's stood staring at the set before Maurice is pulling her inside the shop, shushing her protests.

* * *

She sets sail the next morning admiring his gift upon her wrist, the rubies and yellow gold of the bracelet are such a perfect contrast against her fair complexion, she thinks. As she settles in for the long voyage home, she puts pen to paper and prolifically writes pages to Hans, for once being able to share _her_ adventure and experiences in a foreign court. Exhausted, she extinguishes the lamp, visions of ballerinas twirling like snowflakes in the breeze lulling her to sleep.

* * *

_BOOM!_

It is just before dawn on the third day of her voyage home that she awakes at the startling sound and chaotic shift of the ship, tumbling from her bed and onto the ground. Elsa's head throbs as she blinks panicked, a result of striking the back of her head against the hard wood. She scrambles to find footing, unable to rise entirely. Instead, she relies upon the side of the bed to support her as she stumbles to make her way to the door. There is shouting before another blast is heard, this time it sends shrapnel flying throughout her room and something _burning_ at her side as she cries out in pain. In less than a heartbeat her guards are smashing through the door, grabbing her (one mentions something about flooding below before inquiring as to her condition), and escorting her (stumbling) to the deck of the ship. The red glare of cannons and bombs bursting in the air above seem to surround her flagship, sounds whizzing and screeching as sulfur and smoke burn her nose. She can't make out _anything_ , and ice begins to crackle at her feet with her panic as she realizes her gown is ripped and bloody at her side, the pain increasing with each breath.

She clutches her side as she leans on the railing for support, her guards leaving her side and racing to secure the flooded hatch below deck. Elsa realizes the ships with guns blazing are from Weaselton – about the same time her Admiral scowls at her presence and raises his pistol at her, "We're done, _Witch."_

Without a thought her hands raise to strike him with her ice, but in her panic she misses and simply knocks his footing, causing him to drop the pistol after getting a shot off. He curses loudly as another blast rocks the ship and knocks her back against the railing, her world going black as the ringing in her ears deafens her.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt a little bad about the cliffhanger (sort of). So here ya go ;)
> 
> Another look at present day before continuing the backstory...and Hans managed to slip an expletive in this chapter. It took my beta to point it out to me, ha! So I let him keep it. 
> 
> Pericula ludus - Latin for "danger is my pleasure"

__

* * *

Her departure from France is at dawn, her ship ready to sail back to Arendelle, yet she's unable to resist finding her way into his arms for the first time. The first time purposely, that is.

Elsa slips into Hans' guest chambers with Maurice's help, a knowing smile gracing Maurice's features as he helps to navigate the Parisian castle. He whispers deviously in her ear before pressing a quick kiss to her cheek, "Enjoy each other. Life is too short not to love."

She can't help but blush as she pauses to embrace him, "You're right, it is."

Footsteps are heard nearby, "Now, Elsa." Maurice hurries her through the passageway, shutting the door behind.

.

.

.

The dark is full of beautiful mysteries revealing themselves.

Hours of tender moments are spent between lovers as they timidly explore each other for the first time. Learning the feel of skin sliding smoothly across one another, the hitch of breath that comes with a certain touch or whispered words, and the parts of themselves that beg to stay hidden with the fear of rejection or disappointment looming. She learns that he sucks a breath in time with hers when she presses her lips to his, like he's a thief stealing her air and she adores it. She learns he sighs at her touch when she traces her snowflake over his heart - every time. He's unabashed and brazen even in the nude, every bit as confident and playful as he is when he wears more layers than she can account for. And she feels so powerful when she finds him looking at her as if she is an ancient goddess who offers him the heavens, his gaze filled with helpless adoration.

Elsa finds she doesn't struggle with embarrassment watching Hans watching her, or shy from the intimacy he tentatively offers her. There is the momentary urge to jump when his cheek presses to her pelvis and his mouth is so close to the parts of her that pulse and throb with desire. She never knew it would be like _this_ to let go, to feel as if he worships at the altar of her body. Her eyes keep fluttering closed under the weight of desire, but every time she opens them, she find his, green and dark and dancing over her face, her body, alight with intrigue.

Eventually Hans' fingers skim gently over the puckered skin at her bare side that is marred and repulses her, but almost reverently his breath catches. She feared his reaction to seeing it for how it really is, but given the fact she can feel his heart trying to beat furiously out his chest, her smile pulls. Further encouragement comes from the way his eyes study hers, sparkling in the shadowed lamplight as he memorized the look of her as he feels her. Truthfully, Elsa finds his caress is almost maddening.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers with a conviction that she _needs_ to hear in the moment his hand rests to her damaged skin.

Her voices tips somber at the reminder of where his fingers have settled, "Not there."

He moves languidly, lips replacing his fingers to press a lazy trail over her side as his hot breath ghosts over her mutilated flesh, goosebumps erupting in his wake. "Especially there." His nose nuzzles the scarred skin with his words, tickling her.

It strikes like an epiphany still – he _loves_ her. All of her.

"Especially not there," she giggles softly in response to his tickling. Elsa captures his face in her hands to pull his gaze to hers, away from her side. Some of the nervous energy evaporates when she catches the heat in his eyes, heavy with lust.

He throws her a conceited little grin before pressing his lips to the bottom of the scar, to one part in particular, "I do fine work."

She scowls playfully as she rolls, turning to put her back to him and hide her scars, only encouraging him to laugh as he scrambles up her form to wrap her in his embrace. He has the audacity to throw a leg over hers to prevent her escape. "You're an ass, by the way," she scolds, but her smile taints her words.

"We mustn't have such filthy language from the Royal mouth, Your Majesty."

She tries to huff indignant, tries to resist the temptation of his bare skin pressed firmly to hers, "You marked me. I stand by my statement that you are an _ASS._ "

She's failing miserably to resist, instead melting into him.

He sucks his kiss to the slope of her neck and nips, threatening to leave a very different mark as he offers precociously, "I can again."

She can feel as his smile graces his lips once more when she barks, "Don't you _dare."_ The command is breathy and desperate as his mouth smears and kisses the fevered skin of her throat.

Unashamed of his actions he questions, "Where's the fun in that?"

She rolls to face him, offering her mouth to his instead. His smile slips scandalous, "Once again I find _YOU_ in _MY_ bed. Am I not allowed to stake claim in this one place when we meet? You have everywhere else, Elsa. Let me have the privacy of my chambers to dominate."

She can't help but grin at the absurdity of his logic at times before pressing him flat under her and finding the secrets he hides in his kiss.

* * *

**_Two years earlier…_ **

She feels cold, and she's hurt.

Very hurt.

And she's _frightened._

That much, she knows.

She's vaguely aware of canon fire.

The world rocks violently from side to side, too.

This all comes to Elsa slowly, waves of awareness that don't piece together correctly, leaving her unable to discern what is real and what is not.

Her eyes won't open, too heavy and she lacks the strength – and there is a terrible pain in her side that burns and stabs when she inhales, reduced to an ache when she releases shallow breathes. Almost like panting, she tries to find relief, but to no avail. Her rapid breath leaves her lightheaded, sending her spinning between throbs of pain and reducing her awareness of her surroundings once again, slipping back towards unconsciousness.

.

.

.

Later, when reality begins to trickle in slowly once more, she's no longer cold. And the deafening noise of battle has silenced. Added to that, she doesn't smell the abhorred stench of sulfur and gunpowder. The surges of stabbing, throbbing pain are ever present, however.

She takes another shallow breath through her nose, catching instead the scent of soap and spice, something familiar and pleasant and _safe._ She manages to shift her head to the side with her next breath, finding the scent stronger and surrounding her. However the pain becomes unbearable because of the movement, causing her to groan pathetically, faint and weak.

.

.

.

She's unsure how much time has passes before she is aware of voices.

Friend or foe, she knows not.

They are unfamiliar and surround her, too hushed for her to understand what is said – her head aching horribly as she tries. But she can sense the concern and _urgency_ they seem to possess. And then, in the cacophony of sounds surrounding her, she faintly makes out someone who can't be real, and desperation begins to settle in.

It's in her next heartbeat that cold dread washes through her – her ship had fallen under attack, unprovoked, and Fleet Admiral Sorenson…he'd made an attempt at her life. The image of him, face twisted in disgust and malice in the middle of a battle, is _seared_ into her mind - not to be forgotten. Frantic thoughts swirl too quickly for her to latch onto due to the ominous panic.

Eventually, she's able to catch something that makes sense. It's unfamiliar and at her side imploring, "She's lost considerable blood. The wound doesn't penetrate into her vital organs, yet it's still significant and deep into her flesh."

The noise increases before the voice adds, "Her Majesty needs to be closed. We mustn't delay any further or she may not recover from her injuries."

The cacophony falls silent for a long time.

The next thing she is aware of is the rush of cool air over her flesh as it is exposed along her side before something cold and wet is carefully pressed to where it hurts, then wiped dry. Something pulls her injured flesh tightly, the pressure unbearable. Unexpectedly, a terrible stabbing pain has her crying out in agony and attempting to curl into a ball on her unaffected side, ice erupting uncontrollably from her fingertips as her hands shift to protect her from attack. There is a thought in the back of her mind that pushes forward.

_I'm unrestrained._

Discordance and shouting, ringing with expletives, fill her ears as she sobs uncontrollably, eyes screwed tightly shut.

That is, except from one voice. It's rough, half-choked with frustration and no small amount of fear and concern, "Shhh, Elsa…No, no. I've got you."

She gasps silently in disbelief.

_Hans._

His strong arm drapes carefully over her shoulders and upper back to cradle her closer to him as he sits beside her on the mattress, comforting her in her distress. His fingers curl into her loose hair at the nape of her neck, his thumb stroking gently behind her ear. She's pulled to him and to his gravity as the bed shifts, his warm hand capturing hers that is practically frozen. She's helpless, absolutely unable to protect or defend herself, but he is here and he is her protector. She's comforted in a way she's thoroughly unprepared for at that thought.

He smells of sweat and destruction – absolutely revolting, but it's Hans. _(He desperately needs to bathe. That fact cannot be over-emphasized.)_

The affirmation of his presence courses pleasantly through her for a heartbeat before dread returns. She knows something terrible has occurred, and she wonders what he knows.

_Oh no – my people._

Hans' voice is calling to her softly, out of her swirling panic, whispering reassuring words in her ear that she's going to be alright and he's going to bring her back home, safely. She sobs harder at that, realizing that means that the fate of her ship is questionable, as well as the fate of those aboard.

He carefully weaves his hand with hers, fingers resting perfectly to hold hers before shouting erupts in the background demanding, "Sir, get back – she's dangerous!"

Her heart sinks as she draws vague parallels to what little awareness or memory she has of a similar situation, a life time ago and during her _Eternal Winter._ Frightened men whispering of plots to kill her where she lay unconscious in the aftermath of her fight in her icy fortress.

_(It was Hans who saved her, "Icy Sorceress or not, she is your Queen and presently a defenseless young woman. It would be reprehensible to act against her in such a predatory manner. It would be prudent to return her to the castle and talk with her when she regains consciousness. She is the only one who can end the winter and bring back summer. I trust she will." Evidently he was right all along, despite her protests later that "…don't you see? I can't." And all the other stuff.)_

"Lock him up until we make port." His voice shatters her thoughts, coming almost as a snarl, low and dark and very furious, "I won't stand for _anyone_ speaking of Her Majesty in such a manner. _Especially_ in light of what has just occurred!"

He's obviously taking a _VERY_ different approach to managing fear and distrust of her this time.

Elsa manages to tear her eyes open a fraction, just for a moment. She's rewarded with a glimpse of Hans, wearing the look of a vicious hunter in his eyes while her hand is tenderly cradled in his.

Or rather, someone who could be Hans.

He looks terrible, uniform jacket shed and wearing what was once a white shirt. It's terribly rumpled with the sleeves shoved up, dusted in soot and smeared with blood. Perspiration causes the filthy garment to cling to his broad shoulders and strong arms -his red hair is disheveled and plastered to his head in strange ways, as well.

And he's sporting a face full of _HORRIBLE_ beard.

Her eyes screw shut in agony as her breath catches once again because of the pain in her side.

"Didn't you medicate her first? She's a _Queen_ – not a sailor!" Hans says as his temper flares like on a short fuse.

Her hand is released carefully back to rest at her chest as Hans demands the room cleared of everyone but ' _Doc'_. He rises from the mattress as the room goes quiet, leaving her cold at the loss of him. She wants him back. Even if he is filthy and of a foul disposition.

She can make out the tinkling of glass as _'Doc'_ , she assumes, says quietly, "I'm sorry, sir. Her Majesty has been unconscious since she was brought aboard. I didn't realize the change in her condition and that she would require sedation. "

There is a low grunt in reply.

"Sir, she struck my hands with her ice. I – I can't feel properly, like being frost-bitten."

_Oh no._

She's aware enough to realize that's very bad. A doctor who can't feel the needle and thread?

"Do you have the chloroform ready?"

"Just one moment, sir."

There is a hand gently, _so very gently,_ stroking her cheek before Hans is whispering in her ear, "I need to stitch you up. Please – is. Is that okay? You'll have medicine to numb the pain and you'll awake right here in my stateroom. I promise."

_Wait, what?_

She can't manage a reply, just a soft moan.

"Just breath as normal as you can." Hans says calmly. Elsa whimpers as a sweet-smelling soft cloth is placed over her nose and mouth. She follows his instructions, and she finds the pain dulled after a time. She manages to open her eyes once more – finding Hans gazing intently at her, his brow pulled tight and low, and very concerned.

"You look _awful,_ " she mumbles. She vaguely wonders how much of what she says he can make out. Evidently enough, because he smiles _wonderfully_ in response.

"Thank you." His voice is worried yet clearly amused. "Despite being in a similar state, you, My Queen, are by far the most beautiful sight I have ever beheld. My soul takes flight when your eyes meet mine, truly."

She can't stop the dismissive groan or pull of a smile at his nonsense, his honeyed words rolling off his tongue without a thought (she's sure). Hans tilts his head towards her with his soft smile framed by a full beard aflame.

Simply _awful._ Stupid beard.

"You've frightened me," he confesses seriously, smile fading as he presses his lips thin. His voice is hushed as he confesses softly to her, "I don't think I have ever fought battle with such fear or concern weighing my every command. Like every action was going to be futile, and you were already…"

He trails off and swallows thickly, the severity of what has occurred settling between them like ash and soot, "You are precious to me."

Elsa blinks, her thoughts not entirely lucid and _stuck_ on his words.

"Know that God was with you, protecting you. I have no other explanation for why you are here now."

Her loose hand fumbles for the neck of her nightgown, pulling at it to expose his rosary around her neck - the one she can't ever explain why she dons like a ritual as she says her nighttime prayers. His eyes shoot wide and his breath hitches, _"Oh, Elsa..."_

His hand is holding the cloth to her nose and muting her, but she tries to speak, "Why are you here?"

Elsa isn't sure how long he studies her, somber expression fixed before he seems to realize she asked him a question. His lips part, huffing to himself before catching her gaze once more.

"Oh. Well," his voice pulls mischievous _(of course it does…)_ , "You know. Living dangerously. Chasing after _Evil Queens_ and trying to get myself killed."

She blinks at him.

" _Pericula ludus_." Hans shrug vaguely, "The usual."

She realizes there is absolutely _NO ONE_ in this world she'd rather have with her in this moment. He's an absolute _JACKASS_ and she needs his absurdity to stop her panic. His words always seem to stop whatever train of thought she follows. Elsa distantly wonders if he does it on purpose. She doesn't appreciate his response that avoids the answers she wants in this moment, however. So, despite her drugged state, she narrows her eyes at him as she takes another deep breath of the sweet-smelling scent of the cloth, mind getting fuzzier.

Sympathy seems to set in his eyes (she must look _pathetic)_ as he adds, "We can talk later, but the short version is that I caught wind of trouble brewing and part of my fleet was lying in wait."

Elsa manages to rasp out, "No. My people – my ship was attacked by Weaselton. Admiral Sorenson tried to kill me..."

Hans shushes her, "Please, Elsa. After you're mended."

"Now." she huffs pitifully, "Right now."

Hans seems to find humor in her demand, his lips fighting to remain flat as he clears his throat. She's sure he's mocking her authority, but unable to pin down _how._ "Again, the short version is I had intelligence suggesting a possible ambush. I reached out to Sorenson and I was told to ' _fuck-off',_ in his words, and to mind my own business. Unfortunately I was right, and despite my best efforts, your Flag ship was lost." His shoulders slump, like the weight of what has occurred is finally defeating him – the adrenaline rush of combat gone. "Again, short version." There is absolutely no humor in his tone. There is only immense guilt and helplessness.

The anesthesia has begun to cloud her thinking too much for her to properly process what he said or that he just cursed in her presence and she should be horrified. Although after everything she's been through with him, she suspects there is little he could actually ever do to horrify her. She belatedly realizes she can feel nothing, really. Not the throbbing in her head nor the gash in her side as she slips quickly towards some sort of unnatural state and her mind scrambles, confused.

_Wait. Lost?_

He must realize she's going to demand more information as he wets his lips and continues, "The Arendelle frigate that was escorting you is damaged, but able to make way. I am told they also suffered significant casualties. My ships have taken aboard everyone we could find who had taken to the small boats, you were unconscious in one with your guards. They told me of Admiral Sorenson and his assassination attempt. I understand he made it off the ship before it sunk as well, he's held in a brig aboard one of my other ships." There is a tremor to his voice, a wetness pooling in the corner of his eyes as he looks at her, "We'll be in Arendelle in a few days – worry about it then. Now you need to selfishly worry about healing."

She raises a trembling hand to dust fingertips beneath his eyes, to wipe the moisture threatening to fall, and her hand finds thick coarse hair. It prevents her from caressing his jaw the way she wants to. Instantly she's frustrated and _mad_ , irrationally her drugged mind decides that after everything that's happened, how badly she's been betrayed and hurt, she has a right to comfort herself in his skin - and in this moment he and his _awful_ beard are prevented her from doing so.

She childishly resorts to trapping the lobe of his ear between her thumb and forefinger and she weakly squeezes, attempting to communicate her disapproval.

He laughs gently at her, removing the cloth for a moment and finding her pout before replacing the cloth with a fresh one with more chloroform. "I suspect you disapprove of my grooming as strongly as my Mother."

_Not exactly._

"You shall always be my Heroic Prince," Elsa coughs slightly as she grabs at his wrist to tug his hand away from her mouth, "Regardless if you look, or smell, like a beast."

He smiles as something flares in his eyes like a fire as he frees his wrist and returns to sedating her, "I'm willing to propose a little arrangement. You let me stich you up, and I'll let you shave it off."

Her eyes flutter shut against her will, "Do you even know how to?"

"Stich-up a wound?"

"Hm."

"Between the two of us, I'm more concerned with the thought of you attempting to slide a blade along my neck," he muses.

She grunts frustrated at him so he quickly explains, "I entered military training at sixteen, and during two deployment I shadowed an Army surgeon, learning all sorts of battlefield medicine and surgical techniques. It's amazing how useful such knowledge is."

_OH?_

She's too drugged to be properly impressed, so she returns her hands to curl fingers gently around his wrists. Just to hold him.

"He said I was quite adept with a needle, very fine work." Hans adds, "Doc here, he's the ship's surgeon. He likes to put me to work after port-call brawls…nothing like having your Fleet Admiral patch you up as you are being reprimanded for bad behavior."

_(Her sedated mind conjures images of an angry Hans sewing up men, and she finds it rather amusing.)_

"Yes, Ma'am. He's excellent." Doc says with a chuckle, or who Elsa assumes is _Doc_. That bit of reassurance is comforting, but she's not sure Doc is an unbiased opinion – given that Hans is his commanding officer.

Doc chuckles softly as he mutters under his breath, "Only complaint is that Admiral Westergård can't seem to end the stiches without adding a thirteen. You know, in Roman numerals? XIII? Bit of a calling card, I suppose."

Hans laughs gregariously at that.

_Ah…that raises concerns._

"What?" she tries to say, but no sound comes as she fights to open her eyes again, to argue further. She's weighted and pressed heavy into the soft mattress by the anesthesia, and she forgets the ship surgeon's remark.

She'll not remember for certain, but she'll be left with a vague recollection of Hans asking permission to remove the blanket covering her, as well as expose her wounded side once more. She will remember the way his breath caught at the grisly sight, the vulgar cursing under his breath at _"the bastards responsible for all this"_ , and the embarrassment and disappointment clouding her mind that she's now damaged, flesh twisted and marred. She'll now be scarred, her virgin flesh forever bearing an ugly mark of hate and violence.

One that will serve as a physical reminder of the first declaration of war she will ever have made as Queen.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has it really been almost a month since I updated this? So sorry!
> 
> I have been overwhelmed with a death in the family, a mother, a friend. It was not unexpected, but still terrible to cope with when it finally occurs. She is in a far better place, and I long to see her again. Thank you to my readers for your patience and understanding if my updates slow, it is just harder to pull out the laptop and write at the moment. I am posting this now, I promise I will update more soon.
> 
> By the way, the inspiration for Hans' horrible beard came from watching the March Madness College Basketball Tournament. There was a player, Thomas Walkup who plays for Stephen F. Austin State University, who had a short, conservative hair cut and a terribly bushy red beard :)
> 
> Picking up from the last chapter's events…

_Where am I?_

Elsa's eyes blink open, confused with what she finds as pain throbs in her side.

There is a small series of porthole windows with what seems to be evening sun streaming through, casting the tiny room in shades of yellow and orange, framing everything with soft lines. She scans the room, finding shelves overfilled with books and sailor's tools, rolls of what she assumes are charts and maps neatly placed in cubbies, piles of carefully folded clothes, and even cut crystal barware and matching decanters filled with various liquors atop a wide shelf. She focuses her eyes to a tabletop beside the bed and spies an ornate silver box set to the side and close to the bed she's in, just within arm's reach. The box is something one would keep precious, personal mementoes and trinkets in - engraved with an elegantly scripted monogram on each side, an ' _H'_ flourished and twisted with a _'W',_ centered below it is a simple XIII. What looks like a blueish-white glass rosary sitting atop it, almost glowing in the evening light. Her hand fumbles with fingertips outstretched, grazing the surface of the rosary to find iced beads, confirming that indeed it is hers. Her ice.

_Hans – it's his ship, his stateroom, his bed, and she'd wager, his shirt she wears. Or so she thinks when she catches sight of the cuff of an oversized sleeve hanging from her wrist._

Privately Elsa has always been curious about his world, this alternate universe he exists in as a sailor-prince. As she scans the small space she decides it's exactly as she would imagine, elegant touches that scream refinement and privilege, yet existing in a world where such an upbringing or connection would be of little to no benefit (floating out in the middle of nowhere).

Immediately she sighs, the scent of his soap and spice making itself known from the linens of the bed as her eyes flutter closed. How she ended up here raises immense concern, the events of the last day almost nothing but a dream, but she decides she's safe and selfishly pleased to spend a few quiet moments of confusion being surrounded by his presence, without understanding _why._ She's certain that it will be revealed soon enough, and be very unpleasant with ramifications far-reaching.

Sleep claims her until the sound of a latch awakens her much later.

.

.

.

The room is now dark, bathed in shadowed lamp light.

As she stirs, carefully rolling onto her back with a moan, footsteps approach and pause at the foot of the bed before she can focus on who's entered.

"You're awake," Hans says gently. She feels a blanket quickly cover her and the corner of her lips lift slightly with a half-smile, endeared by his attempts to maintain her modesty. She's not cold (not that it would bother her, anyway), but she won't refuse the way he's caring for her. So she merely hums her reply.

Elsa blinks up at him, noting he's washed up and in fresh clothing, dashing and handsome in his sea uniform, hair neatly groomed.

The damn beard is still present.

Elsa closes her eyes so she can avoid seeing him like that _._

_It's like an Elsa repellant – it provides a perfect aversion._

She quickly decides he may need to keep the beard until Anna sees him, wondering if she'd immediately recognize him like this or assume he's one of the twelve older brothers.

_Wait._

"How did I get here?" she says suddenly.

Hans has a glass of water that he offers (instead of a reply), then demands she drink it when she refuses to sit up and accept it. He is stern when he states, "Don't be stubborn. You're dehydrated, and you need medication."

He persists in being bossy, leading her to mumble sleepily her own demands, "Sit down. Answer my question."

"Drink first."

She grumbles as she narrows her eyes at him, allowing Hans to help her up enough to prop up the pillows so she can drink the opium tincture, chasing the horrid taste with water. He's gentle despite his rough worlds, handling her as if she were made of glass as he hovers over her, helping her hold herself up (she's not that weak, but selfishly she likes Hans so near, so she persists in playing the part of an invalid). After she empties the glass she says quietly, "You're a terrible handmaiden."

"Ah. That's not true." She can hear his playful frown, "I washed your hair, cleaned you up and tucked you into bed all without complaint from you earlier. You smiled at me, I think, and thus I suspect I am an excellent handmaiden." Elsa catches his gaze, mischievous and playful, likely wanting to say so much more but biting his tongue.

She's actually impressed as he does.

Hans can't seem to help the wolfish grin that pulls as he adds, "You know, it's always been an aspiration of mine to wait upon a beautiful, powerful, dangerous young Queen. I was hoping I could give up command and serve as one of your handmaidens. I'm sure Ms. Gerda would take me in some sort of capacity."

Elsa's mouth quirks slightly at that, as he is likely very correct. Gerda has had nothing but endearing words and a growing soft spot for Prince Hans of the Southern Isles since her visit last year to Corona, so she hums her agreement.

He allows her a few moments of silence, eyes roaming her slight frame before he becomes irritating again.

"Elsa. You need to eat something."

"I need to know what happened," she sighs, eyes fluttering closed.

Specifically she needs to know how he knew of an elaborately planned ambush of her flag ship, trust it enough to pull part of his fleet from whatever they were doing to "wait" for the events to unfold, and not tell her. If he was getting nowhere with her Fleet Admiral, if Sorensen honestly blew him off and was uninvolved, simply not trusting his warning, why didn't Hans come to her?

_It's not that he has no relationship with me, he tells me bloody everything…_

That thought rattles around, stirring her frustration that twists in her chest when his voice interrupts, her name called as a command, "Elsa."

_Wait. Who the hell does he think he is?_

Her snarky thoughts must be evident on her face when her eyes fly open, because Hans glares at her.

"Eat."

She's far from hungry, too worried and hurt for any appetite.

His expression is one of a man who has no interest in getting anything but what he wants.

So she negotiates, "Fine. I'll have a little something simple while you sit with me and tell me what the _hell_ is going on."

Hans raises an eyebrow at her temper, her voice sharp and cold, but his lips quirk like he's enjoying their frustrated banter.

_Figures._

His expression softens, concern seeping into every action and word as he sets a small bowl beside her and sits down, proceeding to help her eat. By the time she manages to get down a little stew, the opium has kicked in, leaving her to feel as if she could _float_ right out of her skin should she not focus intensely on everything that is happening around her, which is difficult because she is very heavy-eyed, and she slips unconscious without her permission. Without his explanation of what exactly happened.

.

.

.

Elsa wakes horribly disoriented to a harsh keening sound, or so she thinks as her hands scramble, clutching the blankets at her chest. She blinks away the grit of sleep just as another pained noise comes from beside her, the world very much a confused haze. It takes a few heartbeats for her mind to process that she's still aboard Hans' ship, in his stateroom, still in his bed.

And it's Hans making that noise.

Elsa glances to her side to find Hans asleep in a chair at her bedside, half on the mattress beside her with his head buried in his arms. He's somehow managed to curl into himself onto the small patch of mattress he's claimed, fists clenched, a sheen of sweat visible across his temple.

"Hans," she whispers, reaching tired fingers to brush the damp hair from his brow without thinking, "Hans?"

He startles, then shouts her name, eyes screwed shut, crying in the darkness as his nails cut creases into his own skin, and Elsa attempts to sit up, unsuccessfully. Instead she props herself up some, leaning over his trembling frame.

"Because of - _no._ Please stop!" he screeches hoarsely. Elsa molds the palm of a cold hand across his shoulder and gives a shake, calling to him again, desperate to stop the agony ripping past his lips.

"Hans!" Elsa has to yell to be heard over him, and finally he gasps as if starved for air, eyes flying open and immediately up to hers.

"I'm so sorry," he stumbles half-dazed, not really speaking to her, just speaking out loud. "Are you hurt?"

Elsa blinks, confused about his question with an obvious answer.

"Yes," she drawls, mouth creasing into a frown, not completely awake herself, the opium tincture given to her earlier for her pain framing the world strangely, "Yes, I am."

"My fault. I was weak. I couldn't," he mumbles.

_What?_

Elsa wonders what it was that upset Hans, lead him to this, crying out in the night. And it causes concern to wrinkle her brow. Regardless, she attempts to reassure, to settle what may be haunting him, "It was only a dream, nothing real." After Hans nods dumbly, one too many times, she adds, "What was it?"

He wets his lips, "It was you."

Her mind races, wondering if he is stricken with frequent dreams (or nightmares) of her. So she asks.

"This was the first," he manages as he sits back into the chair, retreating from her touch as he straightens. He seems to realize he's now out of her reach before his hand comes to tangle fingers with hers for the briefest of moments before rising. "I'm sorry I woke you, I shouldn't have intruded."

Elsa's spent years assuming she haunted his subconsciousness...something she's distantly held with abject fascination ever since his Queen Mother informed her that she was his obsession. Before retreating entirely he pauses to look at her, his expression guarded and unreadable in her present state of mind. She decides she'll have to wait until Arendelle to understand fully what has occurred.

"No, it's fine." Elsa manages, "Please stay." His eyes soften slightly as she explains, "In case I need something?" He looks as if he is going to refuse, confusing her slightly as she settles back to the bed, head resting on the pillows with platinum hair framing her, making it abundantly clear she's moments from sleep and not interested in any further discussion or a refusal of her command. She'll deal with the ramifications of the events from the last few days when she's better and healed and _home._

Hans' lips twist, eyes sparkling to life with her words as he returns to his chair, "As you wish."

* * *

It's under a blanket of darkness Elsa arrives back in Arendelle.

She's done nothing but fuss and argue with Hans, insisting she do things herself as he attempts to coddle and nurse her back to health, and her entrance into the castle is no different. She's cradled in his arms, being carried into her castle by a heavily bearded Prince Hans and wrapped in blankets. (She adores that part, the heady, weightless sensation of being carried in his strong arms, so she snaps more at him for doing it.) Too weak to conjure her magical fabric, as she's tried, Elsa resorted to his shirt and a cabin boy's breeches for clothing. In retrospect, Elsa decides she really should have waited until proper attire could be brought aboard for her, then proceed to the castle, but she's too impatient. It's dark, anyway, and the village asleep and unaware of her return.

It must truly be a bizarre and unexpected sight to behold, her procession, because the guards say little directly to her as they rush to her side. She reassures them she is okay, orders flying frantically from one guard to the next as arrangements are made for the Royal physician to call upon Her Majesty and Princess Anna to meet her in the Queen's chambers.

_The Heroic Prince returns her home._

As Hans lays her in her bed, his eyes won't leave hers. Green pools glisten with unshed tears, concern and sorrow etched in his brow that confuses her terribly until he confesses, "I've done this before. Laid you here when you were hurt. They made me move you to the dungeon. It was wrong and I should have stopped it."

Elsa blinks, the opium still slowing her mind dreadfully. "I'm sorry, I don't..." Her eyes shoot wide, understanding settling suddenly. "During my Eternal Winter?" She whispers. She awoke in the dungeon, chained like a prisoner. But left carefully covered, a pillow under her head. She remembers that part.

Hans nods, swallowing thickly.

"The cuffs?"

She can't imagine him, what she knows of him now, binding her in chains, leaving her terrified and humiliated. Although he was the only person to interact with her in such a compromising situation. His words and actions respectful despite their situation. She vaguely wonders at what point he changed his mind with her and decided that the only solution to end the winter was to kill her. Although at the time, she had to agree that was the most prudent solution.

"Not my idea."

She weaves her hand into his and squeezes as he drops to kneel beside her bed, her eyes closing under the weight of sleep, "Its okay. I was the _Evil Queen._ You were simply playing your part."

She can't see his expression, but hears the doubt in his words, the hesitation in his voice, "What part do I play now?"

She doesn't respond, feigning sleep instead.


	19. Chapter 19

**_Two years earlier…_ **

Breathless and flushed pink from laughter, Anna gasps, "You look ridiculous."

"What do you mean?" The confusion in Hans' voice is the second best thing Elsa's heard all day. The first was Anna's fumbled attempt to identify him after the shock of seeing a strange man at Elsa's bedside faded.

Hans appears slight insulted, she thinks with delight, lips quirking into a little smile. Hans is evidently unfamiliar with such an _openly_ _mocking_ reaction to his appearance - careful amusement regarding his antics likely the usual response.

But this is Anna. And Anna has never bothered with a _mild_ reaction when it comes to this man.

Kristoff appears amused at the scene unfolding before him, "Didn't recognize you, old salt."

Hans throws Kristoff a grin with a quick nod of his chin.

_Evidently that's a compliment?_

"How was France?" Anna manages before realizing Elsa's condition and rushing to sit beside her on the bed, folding her fingers into hers with a kiss to Elsa's temple, "Wait. What's going on?"

There is an excited flutter in Elsa's chest as Anna's rapid chatter fills the room, her smile fading as Anna's banter with Hans and Kristoff settles and transitions to alarmed concern, then unadulterated awe as Hans recounts in detail the saga of the past few days. As he finishes, silence settles, thick and still.

Kristoff wears a look of furry, arms crossed tightly to his chest the entire time, finally breaking his silence with, "Who the hell does Sorenson think he is? He served Arendelle under Elsa's father, he's known her since she was a child." He gestures angrily, "The traitor attempted to murder his Queen! And he delivered her right into the hands of Weaselton?"

"Sorenson set it up, according to my intelligence, but he has remained silent since being taken into custody," Hans sighs, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "He refuses to talk - as well as eat or drink. My men were under specific orders not to engage him, just keep him safe, provide whatever basic care he needed and deliver him to Arendelle to stand trial."

Kristoff asks what Elsa has been hesitant to, "How come Arendelle's spies didn't know about something this big? You'd think someone would have heard something."

"We'll need to flush that out," Elsa says quietly, scrutinizing Hans' expression as she shakes her head. Hans' holds her gaze, remorse in the shift of his shoulders, defeat in his exhale.

Kristoff must read the guilt in Hans' expression, throwing at him, "Why didn't you go to Elsa?"

Her breath catches, dreading Hans' reply and eternally grateful to Kristoff for asking the question that's been haunting her for days, the one she's selfishly been avoiding so she could naïvely bask in his attentive care without considering the consequences.

Hans presses his lips press flat, responding simply with, "I should have. I didn't think I had enough to go on to justify approaching her. I was horribly wrong." He releases a breath through pursed lips, "It was an egregious mistake, and I wish I had the insight then, which I have now, to understand. I'm so sorry." He turns to Elsa, voice almost timid, "I am sorry. I wish I could go back and do things differently."

Elsa believes that part. The part that he didn't think he had enough to go on she's not sure she's buying – but she's not having that conversation in front of Anna or Kristoff, or for that matter, anyone else. She'll address that privately, when she's off pain medicine.

Because the man tells her _everything else._ Why not this?

Silence falls again upon the group until Anna manages, star-struck wonder in her eyes, "But...Hans. You saved her, you're a hero to the Kingdom."

The angles of his bones _scream_ humility, almost like dread at the praise, green eyes catching Elsa's before meeting Anna's, "No, not a hero. But 'twas an honor to render assistance, ma'am." He smiles politely as Anna stops before him, and she's almost trembling.

"No – _YOU_ saved her life." Anna looks as if she is going to launch herself into his arms, overwhelmed with appreciation, eyes wet and voice unsteady. "If it weren't for you, Elsa wouldn't be with us."

Hans adds hastily, expression solemn with wide eyes imploring, "It is the Southern Isles Navy, the fine men who serve under me, who deserve the true credit for the swift end to unprovoked act of aggression, as well as the successful rescue of so many of the victims, including Her Majesty."

He speaks as if he had _nothing_ to do with it. Not the battle tactics, the coordinated and efficient rescue of her people, nor the medical attention she received. Elsa finds herself honestly impressed at his modesty, his refusal to accept or bask in any glory he may be entitled to.

It doesn't stop Anna in the least, or Olaf for that matter, from following through with showing him their appreciation.

_Olaf?_

Elsa hadn't noticed Olaf's presence in her chambers in the first place, really. The opium tincture evidently causes unusual details such as this to be less obvious, because there he is, twigs twisted tightly around Hans' leg, locking Hans into a most uncomfortable embrace and weeping openly between gasped words of thanks and praise. Mirroring Anna.

Hans appears befuddled, holding himself almost carelessly as his arms awkwardly shift to offer reassurance to Anna…and Olaf. Elsa wonders if Hans has ever actually interacted with Olaf before, he knows of her accidently brought-to-life snowman, she's written him of Olaf and his child-like nonsense. Though, she can't recall from his visit to Arendelle if he had met him. Regardless, Hans seems to be taking things in stride.

Twigs and all.

He smiles cautiously at Olaf, emotions dancing across his face too fast for Elsa to read, but likely embarrassed to be receiving such open affections from a magical snowman (and her sister), and something settles deep in Elsa's heart when her eyes meet his. His smile pulls soft and just for her, and that something that settled, that thing she's never dared to want, blooms brighter. And it's terrifying.

_Hope. Hope for something more._

.

.

.

She dozes off mid-conversation, still too weak from loss of blood and overcome by sleep easily thanks to the opium, not so much because Kristoff has taken an interest in something dull that Hans was talking about.

She awakes to Kristoff offering his unsolicited advice to Hans. About the beard.

"You have to keep it. It's rugged, you know. Says that you demand respect." Kristoff says with some sort of testosterone-tainted conviction, "You can't let Elsa shave it off."

"Yes," Anna deadpans, "The whole 'Prince' things is absolutely worthless, as is the title 'Admiral'. You know, demanding respect." Elsa can picture Anna's expression perfectly, or at least she assumes when she blinks her eyes open for a moment and sees the flat look Kristoff is shooting Anna.

"I have been working on this for months," Hans says almost wistfully, evidently ignoring Anna as he continues, "and I confess, I hate to see such hard work go to waste."

Unsolicited advice, yes. M _eaningful_ advice, no.

"Let me take you ice-harvesting," she hears Kristoff's voice timber on, "You'll fit right in."

Anna's groan is priceless, "You can't be serious."

There is genuine excitement in the lilt of Hans' voice, the joy of acceptance seducing him, no doubt. "Hm. Okay."

_Men are so strange..._

She elects to leave her eyes closed, falling back to sleep without dignifying any of what she's hearing with a response.

* * *

A man's toilette kit and Hans.

(And a private breakfast in her chambers, to follow. She figures she owes him that much after everything, she explains.)

Gerda raises a rather scandalized eyebrow at Elsa's strange requests first thing in the morning but manages to bite back her smile, as well as any remark she has lined up on her tongue. Instead she tends to Elsa's morning routine, careful not to rush or tire her (or cause any increased discomfort or pain), soft song hummed as she works, before making arrangements and retrieving what Elsa's asked for.

Elsa knows enough to conserve her strength and avoid the use of her powers, so today she's dressed in a loose gown, one that won't press tightly to her wounds, something short sleeve and A-line to the floor in soft grey wool, traditional patterns done in dark purples and blues along the hems. She distantly thinks of her mother when she catches her reflection in the mirror, reminding her of something she wore informally around the castle. Elsa realizes, as she stands before the mirror, that she's not entirely steady, her hands stricken with a slight tremor when she brings them before her. A night in her own bed, being cleaned and dressed properly has done wonders, but she's still very weak.

_Perhaps running a blade along Hans' neck in my present condition is not best plan._

She frowns slightly, disappointment lingering at that thought because she feels strongly that she's seen more than enough of him in his present condition.

Hans' expression is priceless upon his arrival to her sitting room, one of a man facing execution, Elsa decides as he takes in her and the table set with a blade carefully placed upon a leather band and a mirror, shaving brushes, various soaps and oils, warm towels and bowls of steaming water. She'd watched a valet bring it all in and set it up, the young man mentioning the items and briefly explaining _how_ a man shaves (very correctly assuming that the Queen had no prior knowledge of such things, male grooming, and guessing that she was going to somehow take part in the process). She'd be lying to herself if she didn't admit that it was all so foreign, but she finds it terribly intriguing – and oddly _private._ It's the young man's blush as he speaks that leads her to that conclusion.

Hans awkwardly clears his throat as he offers her a string of elegantly honeyed words in greeting, expressing his appreciation for the invitation to join her for a private breakfast.

"Good morning," Elsa smiles coyly, "Time for my _Heroic Prince_ to make an appearance, I'm afraid."

Hans laugh is nervous and small, taking inventory of the situation as he raises a gloved hand to stroke the stupid beard. "But Kristoff was going to take me ice harvesting." She cocks an eyebrow at him when he adds, "I'd hate to disappoint him."

Elsa can feel her almost predatory smile growing as she approaches Hans, offering him a small shake of her head as she murmurs, "We had an arrangement."

She watches his eyes shift between hers, darkening as she takes his gloved hand in hers and begins to tug gently towards the table, unable to prevent her giggle from bubbling up when he stutters, "But…"

"I was as good as my word," she purrs, enjoying far too much his trepidation as he takes a seat before the table, "Time for you to be as good as yours."

"Mine is worthless."

"Of course it is." She begins to slide a glove off his large hand, finger by finger tugging at the silk until his hand is _hot_ in hers and exposed, and she realizes that perhaps this is _too_ intimate of her. But she doesn't stop. "But I intend to keep you honest."

His smile slips devious as the same thought must go through his mind, the interaction _very seductive_ , "I like where this is going."

She slaps him, playful and gentle across his face with his own silk glove as she scolds, "Focus, Hans."

He laughs, swiping the glove from her hand and presenting his other to be removed in the same manner. His darkened eyes watch her nimble fingers working, finally noticing her tremor. His smile drops as concern creases, "You're not well, Elsa."

She attempts to protest but to no avail as he's already swooped up and caught her, placing her into a nearby armchair. He smiles, sad and remorseful as his arms brace either side of her, looking into her eyes, "I'd like to propose an amendment to our arrangement." He pauses watching her carefully as he offers softly, "How about you just watch? I'll shave, and you can play valet later, when you're well."

Her mind has gone blank. Forgetting completely what's going on, rather focusing on his lips. He's so close, a breath away and she wants _so badly_ to close that distance with her mouth that her heart flutters anxiously in anticipation.

Thankfully, he pulls back before she's settled on anything, displaying himself with a nod, "Will that be amenable? I'll still loose the beard, and you can save your energy for your nephew later."

_Little Prince Charming…_

She silently curses him for knowing her weakness as she settles back for the show, smiling playfully, "Fine."

(Kristoff is immensely disappointed later, offering his condolences regarding the loss of the beard.  Although, she does catch Hans say something about being somewhat relieved to be without _all that terrible red hair, glaring at him in the mirror.)_

* * *

Anna insists that the Southern Isles Naval officers and sailors _must_ be given a gala, in their honor – an extravagant feast followed by a ball, a parade through the village and every possible pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war bestowed upon them to demonstrate Arendelle's eternal gratitude for their heroic act. Hans is adamant that such fuss is unnecessary, that no greater reward could a warrior receive than the knowledge that he's done the right thing in the eyes of God and served as a protector and defender for those that could not. It was truly a valiant effort on his part, to rebut Anna's plans. But to no avail.

_One might say he is a foolish man._

His fastest frigate is dispatched back to the Southern Isles, word of what has occurred sent to his Father with explanation for his delayed return, as well as a request from the Kingdom of Arendelle that Elsa prays the Southern Isles _won't_ accept - nor open negotiations over.

_Hans to stay through part of the summer, to serve as an advisor to Her Majesty, Queen Elsa of Arendelle in order to facilitate preparations for war and transition the Arendelle's fleet leadership to whomever is officially promoted to the position._

Again, it's Anna's idea, inspired by an Arendelle Rear Admiral she spoke with regarding the attack – darling, sweet, and obnoxiously _stubborn_ Anna taking the initiative to fix this.

(She plays her _Most Important One_ card as she lays her plans.)

Anna takes it upon herself to convene the military advisors on Elsa's first day back, presenting her idea and finding unanimous support for the temporary action, the necessary legislation drawn up hours later and sealed by the crown. Elsa finds herself too weak, too weary still from everything to intercede.

Elsa can't shake loose the tendrils of concern; concern that there is more going on than Hans has shared, and because of that she fears that keeping him too close may end disastrously. Not simply because it would grant a foreign military leader access to Arendelle's most vital defense secrets, providing another Kingdom the means to exploit and conquer as opportunity or desire presents. Logically, that's the stance Elsa takes as she protests the plan, yet she yields due to the unanimous support of absolutely everyone.

She can't help but think they are after something more, her advisors, her staff, even her people. She's no fool...she sees the push for a warrior King for Arendelle, and who better than a Heroic Prince?

(She finally admits to herself she likes the idea. The possibility of him.)

That's what makes her nervous...the very idea of Hans living in the castle, intimately working with her and serving Arendelle, teasing her with the possibilities of a partner to shoulder the burden and weight of the crown. (And in the dark of night, it would no longer be a dream to know his touch. He would be her lover to lay with, expected to know privately, and one day be blessed with a child.)

It leaves Elsa daring to want what she fears is sand slipping through her fingers. Hans. At her side.

Despite the turmoil, arranging for the public trial and sentencing of her now former Fleet Admiral, Sorenson, and the official demands for negotiations with Weaselton and sanctions put in place, Elsa's had almost a week of rest.

Her days are filled with visits from the Royal Physician and meals taken in her private rooms, visiting with family and Hans while she watches her _Little Prince Charming_ turn into a _BEAST_ right before her eyes. Kristoffer has developed this uncanny knack of suddenly reminding everyone that he is very toddler and all boy, the louder and more chaotic, the more enjoyable the experience, evidently.

Not so oddly, Hans _excels_ in mischief, tricks and games triggering the little boy's imagination like no one else has and leading Hans to become Kristoffer's newest favorite playmate…she's actually irritated with that.

"Elsa," Hans says with strange authority after Elsa scolds him for rough-housing for the umpteenth time, "He has to learn how to be physical in a playful manner - haven't you ever watched a litter of puppies learning their hunting and pack skills?"

Elsa is slightly amused, as well as alarmed: Hans Westergård has a philosophy on how to raise boys, and evidently it's aligned with that of a canine. "Kristoffer is a Prince. Not a hound." She suspects this is another example of where Hans' horrible mother went wrong. She drops her hands and the needlepoint she's concentrating on into her lap as she looks over at him, rolling on the rug with the child in his arms, as if the boy is pinning him down.

Hans simply shrugged, "How else will he learn how to determine who is the strongest? Who is the most cunning? Who is the leader?"

She's pretty sure the disgusted disbelief is written all over her face, "Good grief, you're as bad as Prince Fergus, aren't you?" All she can think of is of her trip to Scotland and the Prince's prized hunting dogs, barking and pushing, under foot and following him everywhere. Elsa was appalled (actually, is still appalled).

Kristoffer is not a dog.

Hans pauses his game with the wiggling, giggling, squealing child to look at Elsa, eyebrows raised questioningly. So she elaborates, "Kristoffer may very well be the next King of Arendelle - no one is going to be wrestling with him to determine if they are stronger than him."

Hans narrows his eyes, disbelief creasing his brow, "You've just said two rather interesting things."

_Oh figs. What did I just say?_

She's thankful her pain is better, the need for medicine gone, because she is afforded her wits to realize the one slip, the bit eluding to her never having a child, but can't pin down the other. She has to consciously fight to smooth the lines of her frown as she tries to regain her footing, "I acknowledge that at the age of nine and twenty I am well on my way to becoming an old spinster, and I'll have you know I am perfectly satisfied with my fate as the Virgin Snow Queen." She raises her chin, "As such, I will declare, in time, my nephew my successor."

Hans eyes darken at her words, lips slipping into a soft smile, making her think of melting caramel and dark promises. She suspects his reaction is not so much at the spinster remark, rather at her rumored title of "The Virgin Snow Queen" tumbling from her lips. And that triggers memories of an incident a year ago that left her naked and shuttering silently in his arms. Elsa can feel the heat rising in her cheeks as her stomach flutters at the memory.

She immediately regrets her words, suspecting Hans' mind has gone right down that same rabbit hole as hers because he rises from the rug, Kristoffer on his hip as emotion flares in his eyes, locked on hers as he comes to stand just a breath away. "Is that what you desire?"

Her smile is sad as she reflects upon his question, her shoulder shrugging off his concern as she evades, "I'm realistic, and honest with myself. That's all." She tries not to think of how much more attractive she finds Hans with a child in his arms.

Hans sucks a breath, "You need not suffer such a fate if it is not your desire. You are the most powerful woman any man has ever met. You can have what you want."

Elsa just blinks at his challenge, eyes nervous and focused on Kristoffer as she quietly conjures a flurried globe for the boy to hold. Silence hangs until Hans points our her second slip, "You're foolish to think that the males of our species don't constantly challenge and fight for superiority. And there is no man on Earth more powerful than a King. Kristoffer will be challenged at every opportunity, perhaps not with a wrestling match or a duel while fencing, but his power and leadership will always be something he will have to prove. He will be faced with fighting to maintain it during his rule, if that is indeed his future, and understanding his strengths and weaknesses, how to quickly assess those of his opponents or those he leads, is absolutely a skill he must develop. He must learn."

Elsa opens her mouth to protest, but is cut off as he adds, "The same goes for you. What has occurred with Sorenson and Weaselton is a prime example. You are not immune because you are of the fairer sex, nor immune due to your beauty or age."

She reflects upon what he's said, realizing she is not immune, her authority and power are challenged. Not just that, but she feels that she lacks the ability to quickly assess those around her, as he does. She fumbles, making incorrect assumptions and unable to interpret the nuances of what happens around her - handicapped by her years of isolation. And it spills over as a weakness of her reign, "You're right."

Hans appears startled by her admission, the slight pull of a grin reflecting his surprise, "I am? Which part?"

She shrugs her shoulders as she turns, returning to her needlepoint, "Everything." As she sits down she offers Hans a small smile, and finally asks him.

"Tell me how you knew of the plot to ambush my ship? That Sorenson was a traitor?"

Hans pauses, caught off guard by her question, eyes shooting wide before he steadies himself and some sort of masked control slips into place, "Intellegence indicated - "

"No," she interrupts abruptly,"How did you know." Her heart is attempting to pound it's way out of her rib cage, anxious at what he may say. Elsa realized she would have to push for his honesty, but failed to anticipate how it would affect her.

He remains silent, in the blink of an eye he studies her. "Elsa, you don't really want to know that part," he says heavily.

She's been coddled and protected by everyone, and now he's trying to do it -

Her anger flares hot like an inferno, flames fanned by his concern for her delicate sensibilities and making his response unsatisfactory. So she bites back with a flash of teeth, "I wouldn't have asked the question, if I didn't want to know. Don't treat me as if I have no stomach for politics and intrigues."

Hans wets his lips and huffs as he sets Kristoffer on the rug to play wth the ball, turning back and leveling Elsa with a hard stare.

His voice lacks the bravado she would have expected, but despite that fact his words are bitter and leave her sick and lightheaded, "The Dutchess of Weaseltown has very loose lips, especially in bed."


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have rewritten this chapter numerous times, evidently left with this (I confess I hate it). Feel free to share your thoughts...

* * *

 

**_Two years earlier..._ **

_Especially in bed._

Elsa breathes in, her heart a battering ram in her chest, blood rushing so loudly in her ears that she can't hear herself think. Somewhere in all this there is clarity – there must be, if Elsa could just catch a glimpse of it.

"You -" she pauses, her own voice sounding foreign to her, "You. You were having an affair," she pauses as she searches for words, "with _HER_?" Elsa fights to keep her voice steady, trying to taste the _lie_ in the rush of breath that carries her words _,_ swallowing thickly as she watches Hans consider his response. But it is the taste of something like _truth_ left on her tongue – sharp and bitter and _cold_. She's sure her eyes are like saucers as her question, whispered incredulously, hangs between them.

He nods his head slightly, almost fighting to hold her gaze, evidently unwilling to say the words aloud. Instead he throws at her, "I was trying to keep you safe." He looks almost furious, goaded by anger having to justify himself.

_Wait._

"Safe?" The words are spat, thick with disbelief, her jaw tightening as she realizes that what she feels is scorn, her own anger flaring like a jilted lover learning of an elicit tryst. It was a ridiculous failure of her imagination she decides, to have ever thought that Hans was going to be worthy to sit beside her and be allowed to perhaps _love_ , to be more than just a perfidious companion to her. Elsa realizes this hurts more than anything has hurt in forever – not since she was collapsed and awaiting death on the frozen fjord has she known pain like this.

Incidentally, he was there as well.

"Yes. Safe, Elsa." Hans roughly rubs his palms over his face as he groans, "The only way I knew how. I couldn't lose you."

"Lose me?" She can hear her voice pitch upward an octave, but doesn't stop it, "I'm not yours to lose! And I'm well aware of your habit of whoring around various Royal courts, the insolent games you play. But I fail to see how that keeps me safe. Especially hiding it from me." This _delusion,_ for in the pain and shock of the moment she fails to conjure a more appropriate word, he holds is almost frightening, words and warning from his Queen Mother pushing to the forefront of her mind, _"You are his obsession."_

"I am so sorry," comes rushed and broken, "it was never my intent to keep anything from you. Especially you. You are my _everything."_

She makes a sound, strange and like an animal, choked with frustration because she believes him, "Tell me."

He's silent, frozen before her as he flushes red with embarrassment, "Anna-Marie slips all sorts of secrets when she is aroused, and when she spilled her father's plot against you…that he had gone to Weaselton, I had to protect you."

"Hans! I'm not yours to protect!" She hisses this time, "Honestly, Hans -"

There is an odd determination in his voice as he interrupts, "Yes, you are."

"I was not so informed," she says haughtily, challenge flaring in her eyes. "And I hold my own counsel regarding such matters."

He sighs fumbling, "I am but your humble servant, My Queen."

Elsa simply stares blankly at him. "Start at the beginning."

The challenge in his eye is startling, warning her that he is going to follow her command. "First of all, allow me to be clear. She was merely an amusement, a playful ruse." He diverts his eyes nervously, twitch of a cruel grin pulling, "My dear Queen Mother despised her, shall we say."

"Of course," Elsa manages faintly.

"I started toying with her years ago." He begins to pace, restlessly clenching gloved fists as he speaks but holding his chin high, his gaze firm before him, unseeing. "As time went on, her interest for something more...permanent, a formal betrothal, grew. As did her dowry, I might add, making her highly attractive to any rake looking to gain stature in society. I am not of that sort, but luckily for her father, Lord Fredrick is."

Her heart sinks, it was one thing years ago to read of his exploits, but it is something else entirely to see him standing before her telling her of one that went on for so long, one she was so certain didn't happen.

His smirk is self-depreciating as he shrugs, throwing a glance in Elsa's direction, a nauseous roil burning bile up the back of her throat. "Anna-Marie hated Arendelle, always had. Aspirations for title and opportunity did not lie here, she felt. Not a very bright woman if you ask me, deciding the thirteenth Prince - " his voice trails off as he stops before the window, hand gripping the white frame like a lifeline, swallowing his words and leaving the room hanging in silence.

It takes a few moments for him to continue, "Following the rather dramatic way in which the world discovered your beautifully amazing powers, the ones giving you the ability to single-handedly bring a kingdom to standstill, her father distrusted and despised you and your magic - felt you were an abomination and nothing but a witch, biding your time until you could destroy those that dare oppose you." He shifts, pain etched in his frown, "His madness was hereditary, evidently. She grew to hate you, wishing to see you destroyed."

"Why didn't you come to me? To tell me?" Elsa manages, "You've told me of your games and affairs in the past. Bragged and boasted of them, in fact. Why not of this? When it involved such a plot?"

"I had written you," before Elsa can rebut he adds, "I think it was while Mother was intercepting our correspondence. By the time I realized you didn't know and I saw you in person again, things had shifted somehow, between us, at least for me, and I found myself very lost - unsure of the course of action I must choose. I chose what I thought would best protect you, allow you to keep me close to you." His words falter again, trying to repeat as if that provides clarity somehow, "Something shifted, giving me purpose. An example of…"

_Something shifted for me_ , she wants to scream, wants to spit and claw at him, in reply to this masquerade.

"This was all still going on after she was wed?" Elsa drops her eyes to frozen fingertips as she nervously twists them tightly, frost fracturing with the movement. "Last spring, in Corona, you were with her?"

_Please say no._

She hates herself for the prayer that raises silently, the prayer for the affair to have ended, been over, before she had Hans' bare hands gripping her bare flesh while she pressed her lips to his body during a winter storm. Like somehow she can handle all this, if just that one piece of the puzzle won't fit. She must be wearing a strange expression, one of misplaced hope, because Hans hesitates.

"Yes."

She hates herself more for the way she flinches at the word.

"Corona is where I learned of the plot to deliver you to Weaselton after your trip to France," he supplies quickly, his voice is small, pained. "Preferably dead."

_OH._ Suddenly she's reminded of the chapel, finding him knelt in prayer and _lost…_ he chose to remain silent, to not tell her. She's now sure of what brought him to prayer that afternoon, left him with her hand in his, silence hanging between them as prayers were offered. She feels sick.

"I wrote to France, to Prince Maurice whom I have a relationship with, he assured me that nothing of the sort had been detected by French intelligence. That I should really know better than to trust the words spouted by a lover in the throes of passions."

Elsa thoroughly horrified. He told Maurice, but not her.

He sighs, "The Duke of Weaselton discovered the affair just after the peace summit last spring, objected to his wife's clandestine activities and effectively ended the arrangement, so to speak. Thus, I no longer had the ability to learn if Sorenson's plot was going to be put into play."

_You stupid, stupid girl._ She shuts him out and the world as her eyes cinch tightly. The reflex, the mantra of her former life takes hold.

( _Conceal it. Don't feel it. Don't let it show. )_

Elsa's shock causes the temperature of the room to plummet as tendrils of delicate hoarfrost stretch slowly over the arms of the chair despite her weaken state, her curse still able to manifest itself against her will. She blinks, eyes on him. She knows he's saying something else, something more, something she can't hear.

_Don't feel…don't feel…DON'T FEEL…_

She just stares.

Then sees the frozen fractals.

And stops.

_Kristoffer._

The first thing her mind is able to process, that is once proper thought is restored, is something she can only attribute to maternal instinct. (She's teased Anna for years that she lacks anything of the sort, not a maternal bone in her body, and used it to support her argument to remain the _Virgin Snow Queen. "Anna, remember my reaction when I discovered I had bestowed life upon Olaf? And the dismay over the snowgies? I had created hundreds of them before I even realized what I had done. Poor Marshmallow is the only one I intended to bring to life, and that was wildly misguided. Not a good track record, should you ask me." She will_ later be quite proud of herself for being so wrong – its a bittersweet revelation, for certain.)

_Kristoffer…he's not safe here with me._

Elsa struggles slightly to rise from her seat, emotionless yet purposeful as she makes effort to retrieve Kristoffer (Hans saying something else, droning on and unintelligible for the moment as she mentally pushes him further away). It's like clockwork, mechanical action moving her as she approaches her nephew on the rug and attempts to lift him into her arms, to remove him from the room before her magic unleashes and the freeze claims him.

(She knows exactly what is going to happen…she needs _to_ _let go._ Maybe take Hans with her, without time to fetch his coat first.)

Kristoffer giggles as her hands wrap around him to lift, but his small bubbled laughter becomes a startled wail as her own agonal cry rips past her lips as she stumbles, pain in her side stabbing. Torn muscles and stitches straining, failing under the force of her movement - Kristoffer's weight more than she should have attempted to lift. Stubbornly she grimaces through it and past Hans' protests as he rushes to intervene, to save her from herself.

"Elsa, please. _Stop_ ," Hans whispers frantically, "You're hurting yourself and frightening him terribly." He moves to scoop the confused boy into his arms and support her, shifting his arms protectively around her and taking the boy's weight, but not taking him from her. She allows him out of fear for Kristoffer, her heart breaking further at the hiccupped cry the boy releases when he blinks frightened at her, tears falling. Her own breath is shaking as she fights the ice tearing at her for release, trying to allow the warmth of her love for her nephew to thaw what fears is her now frozen heart. She leans forward to brush tender lips to his plump, wet check, murmuring reassuring words, "I need to get you somewhere safe." Her smile is small and forced.

"We are so sorry we frightened you, Kristoffer." Hans rumbles gently, chest pressed close to her in this odd embrace as he supports her and the boy, "You're just so big and Aunt Elsa's still hurt, but she'll be okay. It's time for rest, that's all." He is warm and strong and she does feel safe as he surrounds her (she _hates_ him for it - and for asserting himself and taking control of the situation...successfully), his heart pounding a tattoo through his chest as he whispers into Elsa's ear, "Please. Please be okay. It was churlish to say such things so plainly. Especially in the presence of a child. I'm not just ashamed of what I have done, but how I have handled everything. Please forgive me, I never thought it would come to all this."

If she were in her rational mind, if she had any shame whatsoever in this moment, she would stop. But she's not, so she doesn't. She grinds her teeth, allowing her ice to erupt over the sleeve of Hans' coat.

(Then is mortified at herself when she catches Kristoffer's startled expression.)

_I have to get Kristoffer to his nursemaid._

Hans must know her intention because he offers, "Please allow me to return him to his nursery, then you may freeze me into a block of ice, should that be your wish."

Angry and hurt, she snaps her gaze up to him, finding nothing but remorse in his eyes. "I'm still not well," she manages, voice trembling slightly and frantically trying to sort out what should be a proper response to him, to all this, for how she feels. "I suppose I'm not thinking straight."

"This is my fault." Hans offers a slight reassuring squeeze, Kristoffer in his arms. She looks up at him, he looks mortified, truly, and somehow that makes her feel worse.

"Yes."

He pulls closer, daring to ghost tender lips to her temple, fleeting but enough that his intention and sentiment are crystal clear, "You are my _everything._ I have never been so affected by concern or fear for another, ever. Not until you. And I am unsure how to change, be a better man. But I am trying."

_Obsession…_

She just nods her head, a dark surge of determination washing over her as she decides upon a word with the beginnings of a plan blooming in her veins. One that shifts how she must handle him now.

_Contrapasso. A fate he's freely chosen…_


	21. Chapter 21

* * *

**_Two years earlier..._ **

_"_ _Especially in bed?!"_

As always, Anna is able to repeat Hans' words with an astoundingly appropriate level of horror and disgust. "Ew. Just _,_ " she adds with a roll of her eyes and a shudder, " _EW!"_

Anna had taken one look at Elsa lying pathetically in bed, not knowing what had happened, just that her son had been returned to his nursery by a distressed Queen and somber looking Prince, and pulled an irritated frown. It was directed at Hans, who was once again at an injured Elsa's bedside.

"Out, Westergård."

He had exchanged glances with Elsa, clearly understanding Anna was likely to hear of his _espionage techniques._ His expression shifted to one of unhappy supplication, before heeding Anna's command without a word, simply nodding and snapping shut the book he had been reading. He paused, just at the doorway, reminding Elsa that he'd be getting underway that evening, not returning for two nights as he oversaw the Arendelle fleet in nighttime evasive maneuver exercises.

"Of course," she lied. She had completely forgotten, however he did not need to know that. Anna immediately joined Elsa in the bed, stopping to cringe at the sight of her injuries, and proceeded to scold Elsa for her "stunt" (picking up Kristoffer) which resulted in her further hurting herself.

Thus, Elsa had to explain. Everything.

Not that she had any delusions regarding _not_ telling Anna. As she fumbled for words, struggling to provide an unbiased tale, she tried to remind herself she has no right to react negatively to anything except the fact Hans didn't come to her sooner. Because Anna can't know how badly this all _hurts,_ can't know how embarrassed Elsa is that she dared to dream for a _happily ever after_ – with him, becoming strangely possessive and needy of his attention and possible affections _._ So instead of sharing _THAT, s_ he emphasized that Hans's actions led to the successful intervention of a traitorous and deadly betrayal of her trust, by someone who had sworn to protect and serve her, faithfully. That many good people of Arendelle died protecting her, people with families who cared deeply, and loved deeply. People for whom she is still writing words of condolences and humble appreciation to, offering financial rewards and military accolades to the families to offset their death…it is the least Arendelle can do, never be able to replace the warm smile or embrace of their cherished loved one that has been lost. Simply put, she would not have returned home _alive_ without Hans' help, without Hans knowing what he knew. She just wished she had her wits about her at the time to avoid partly freezing the room.

Even withholding how personally affected she was by Hans' admission, Anna manages to understand, or so Elsa assumes. "No wonder you forgot yourself and tried to pick up my little chunk," Anna says as she lolls her head to the side to watch Elsa.

"And you were right all along," Elsa moans as she rolls to her unaffected side with a cringe, the opium tincture not having taken full effect yet to relieve the agony of ripping further at healing muscles and wishing to deflect any questions. "Evidently I do have some semblance of maternal instinct."

"Told ya so," Anna smiles sadly at her in reply, watching Elsa thoughtfully for long moments. "You're hurt, aren't you? I mean, Hans hurt you, by being intimate Anna-Marie? You were certain the affair ended years ago."

_So much for deflecting any questions._

"I'm hurt he didn't tell me sooner. About all of it." Elsa murmurs, searching for how to describe how she's feeling. "I'm well aware of his almost _chevalier_ behavior, it just never occurred to me that his games gave him such access to information. I figured it was always to irritate his Queen Mother and satisfy his libido."

Anna sighs heavily, but adds nothing.

Elsa continues, "And – I don't know, I thought he was trying to lead a _good_ life, be a better man. He said he was." Elsa focuses on the tie holding her braid, twisting the end around her fingers absently as she avoids looking at Anna, "I found him praying over this, evidently. Back in Corona. I'm disappointed that he wasn't really trying to lead a chaste and decent life in words and deeds." That's as much of an admission she's willing to offer, so she braves glancing up at Anna as she finishes.

Anna's eyes narrow slightly, "I don't think he realizes how _offensive_ it all is. I mean, he did it for a noble cause, but _yeesh_."

"No. I don't know that he does." Elsa huffs humorlessly, "He'll learn."

Anna raises an eyebrow, clearly expecting elaboration of Elsa's last statement. As Elsa hasn't thought it all through yet, hasn't decided _how_ she's going to make Hans understand, she allows her eyes to flutter closed for a few heartbeats before saying, " _Contrapasso."_

"Elsa – "Anna starts.

Elsa interrupts with, "Eventually he'll suffer from the fate he's freely chosen, poetic justice will find that man."

Anna repeats Elsa's name as a warning, " _Elsa._ I don't know what drug-induced thoughts are brewing in that head of yours, but I don't think I like it." Elsa blinks as innocently as she can, freighting confusion.

Anna groans before darting forward and pressing a kiss to Elsa's cheek, "Hans has come a _long_ way from where he was at the time of your coronation. And as much as I _hate_ to admit it, it's because of you." Anna shifts, shoulder shrugging, "You haven't pushed him away, you've accepted him as he is." Anna smooths her hand over Elsa's, knitting fingers together with a reassuring squeeze, "You may be the only person to have ever done that for him, even seeing him at his _most honest,_ and trust me, I use that phrase loosely with him." Elsa smirks, mirroring Anna.

Anna adds quietly, "He's a better man because of you, because you have been his friend. You've saved him in a different way, but just as much as he's saved you." Anna pauses before adding, "Don't go toying with his weakness for you, if that's what you're thinking."

"You mean his _obsession."_ Elsa says with a citrus bite, opium doing _no_ favors for her in her present condition.

"That's his horrible Mother talking, ignore her." Anna counters, "He cares for you." Anna doesn't even flinch at herself and what's she's said, and that startles Elsa, realizing that Anna, despite what she's just been told, is able to see something _good_ in Hans. After all these years.

Elsa nods in false resignation as she decides there is a fine line to walk, and she's unbalanced at the moment to walk it. She feels her resolve waiver as she admits, "Yes."

* * *

It is a day later, and Elsa's just been spat on by Sorenson. Before the entire court.

_(It was actually the ground at her feet. But it was enough to enrage her.)_

He says nothing during the formal proceedings, no admission of guilt or declaration of innocence, no words of remorse or explanation. He just stares, full of hatred, at Elsa. He's found guilty, and is to be hung for his crimes. It all makes Elsa _sick_ to oversee _._ She has the authority to amend his sentence, which she will, later. Because she can't claim any comfort in the idea of execution, regardless of what he's done or if he's remorseful or not. So she had risen, approached him in the center of the room where he knelt chained with guards on either side, and demonstrated the nobility of grace by offering her forgiveness for his actions.

And was promptly spat on.

It required an _enormous_ amount of self-control to avoid impaling him with a well-aimed spear of ice in that moment. Instead she cocked an unamused eyebrow as she breathed quietly, "You have been forgiven." And walked away.

She'd inform him his life had been spared later.

* * *

Hans returns to the castle, having very successfully completed training with her fleet and excited with the potential and natural leadership he saw from one of her younger Admirals, one she would have never considered to promote to Fleet Admiral had it not been for Hans and his insight. Through all the meetings and counsel sessions, military appointments, even invitations from Anna and Kristoff extending to Hans the offer to join the family for meals, Elsa has struggled with keeping Hans close to her, torn with her decision that she must nurture his _obsession_ with what little time she has with him, so she can demonstrate to him how badly it hurts to be toyed with. She struggles because she can't stop the jealous thoughts that keep coming at the most inopportune times, especially when she catches the carless whispers of the courtiers regarding the Queen finally allowing a man to court her. Prince Hans.

She makes no attempt to silence them, as she needs their gossip should she have the nerve to follow through.

* * *

"Yes," Hans says flatly, clearly amused but fighting the humorous glint in his eyes, "I was covered in filth as my horrified Governess found me."

Elsa is taking afternoon tea in the library that overlooks the harbor, sun streaming brilliantly in through leaded glass and illuminating Hans in a way that is entirely unfair (he looks like a _dream,_ her heart skipping aberrantly when he smiles at her). It leads to a lack of inertia which compels her to simply sit with him, mind emptying angry lists of responsibilities that always tug at her ability to relax, "Tell me a story."

Hans dove into a tale of his childhood, a flock of gulls and a small boat, a picnic gone badly. As her fit of giggles subsides over his misfortune, she scolds him for making her laugh when her side is still sore. It was with a chuckle and lopsided grin he said, "I'm offended you find my tragic childhood amusing." She interrupted his reply with, "Ah. It's in my nature. Evil Queen, and all."

Her time is disturbed when three precise taps are heard on the door.

"Enter," she offers absently as she take a sip.

Kai enters, hurried as he comes before her and informing her of an unheralded ship arriving. "From the Southern Isles, ma'am." He clears his throat as he looks to Hans, "The ship is flying the banner of the Crown Prince, I am told."

Hans exchanges a questioning glance with Elsa as she sets her teacup and saucer upon the table before he says quietly to her, "Negotiations, I suspect. Over Arendelle's request regarding my presence and assistance." Hans looks most apprehensive as he adds, "Why else send such a significant representative of the Crown?"

Elsa jaw tenses, curt words caught behind her teeth as she takes a measured breath.

"They sent a messenger ahead. They wish to speak with Prince Hans, as well. Shall I inform them you will receive an audience tomorrow morning in the throne room, and they may gather their thoughts until then?" Kai says tightly, reading between the looks Elsa and Hans exchange.

"No," her eyes are fixed on Hans, finally seeing the possibility, one in this opportunity that may be presenting itself. Smiling softly she says, "Please, prepare rooms and make plans for a proper feast this evening. Arendelle eagerly welcomes His Majesty's representatives." She swallows her excitement, praying that Hans is right, and his brother has indeed been sent to negotiate.

"Very good, Ma'am," Kai replies with a lingering glance at Hans, one that Hans misses as his focus is solely on her, slightly confused.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first section is a glance at "present day", only because I needed a little fluff :) Then we continue the backstory.

* * *

 

Elsa didn't intended to doze off in Hans' arms, but as she blinks up at him, naked and warm from sleep, she is glad she had. Hans' eyes are bright and locked on hers, a handsome smile of disbelief pulling at the corners of his lips, "You are so beautiful as you sleep." He pulls slowly closer, until he can dust her lips with his, "I love you."

Hans is propped up on pillows, bedlinens pooled at his tone waist allowing her to take in his form in the dim morning light, her snowflake somehow more _vivid_ – he's now tangible and the possibility of this reality is so strong she can't suppress the sleepy smile she returns.

"And I love you." Elsa pauses to yawn as she stretches delightfully, "I want every night, and every morning, like this."

Hans smirks, not taking his eyes off hers but speaking out into the room, "I could do without a _Fils de France_ lurking in secret passages, no doubt coming to steal you from me before we were finished and ready to say goodbye." She hears the faint creak of wood from the secret passage into Hans' Parisian guest chambers, signaling Maurice's return to retrieve her. Elsa pulls the bedcovers over herself, ducking under as both Hans and Maurice _laugh._

"Pardon, but it is time to break my Father's heart, my darling affianced Arendelle Queen." She hears the humor in Maurice's voice, the teasing way he drawls _affianced_ as Hans tightens his embrace. "I confess, this is a situation I could have never anticipated in my wildest dreams– fetching my betrothed from your arms, Hans."

Hans huffs, evidently amused as well, as he releases Elsa enough for her to conjure her gown under the covers before emerging.

She decides she doesn't appreciate the laughter from Hans and Maurice at her attempt to maintain what little shred of modesty she can in the moment. She narrows her eyes at Hans as she leans in to kiss him before crawling out of his bed, only leading Hans to smile wider at her embarrassment. Elsa pecks a kiss to his lips one last time, and pauses to flutter fingers on her way out. The choked gasp of surprise coming from Hans halts Maurice's steps towards the secret passage. Or maybe it is the way Hans squeaks the word, _"snow"._

Elsa smiles, feeling devious and lifting her chin, continuing past Maurice.

Maurice scolds, voice very serious, "Snow and a naked man don't go together."

* * *

**_Two year earlier..._ **

Endless days of amicable visits later, pleasant feasts and tours of Arendelle, discussions of war and private conferences between staff, Elsa finds patience wearing thin.

Enough of this, Elsa thinks as she rubs the pad of her thumb across the flat of a fingernail, hand curling into a loose fist in her lap. Her eyes re-read the last clause proposed by the Southern Isles and she's done; this back and forth has gone on too long. If she is reading Prince Caleb correctly, he feels the same.

Elsa's voice is sharp and clear as it cuts through the clamoring of male voices, without raising. "A word in private with you, Prince Caleb?"

She secretly adores the way she can silence a room. Generally it is just with her words or presence, occasionally it is due to rapid fluctuations in temperature, a subtle yet strategically display of her powers. The swift silence is deafening, much to her pleasure.

"Of course, Queen Elsa," Prince Caleb nods, waving his hand dismissively to his staff. Elsa glances around the council chambers wearing a look of mild irritation, she's certain, and watches her own advisors rise to follow suit. It is Hans who remains firmly planted in his chair on the right of his brother as the room clears. Elsa resists the twitch of lips at his presumptiveness when he glances over at her expectantly, having forgotten how accustom she's become to his insolence.

"Hans," Prince Caleb prompts when Hans fails to move, "You've been dismissed."

Two sets of green eyes shift back to Elsa, she has to bite at her cheek to stop the grin when Hans says quietly to his brother, "Her Majesty meant, ' _may we'._ I'm afraid as this pertains to me, I am part of the _'we'_ in this matter _._ "

"You're not," Elsa says without any apology in her tone, "I genuinely meant in private, Hans." She feels terrible scolding him before his brother, knowing so much about his strained relationship with his family over the years, but she genuinely needs to do this _privately._

"Please," tumbles softly from her lips as she smiles at him, almost as an afterthought, but not. His confusion fades to understanding as he reluctantly rises, genuflecting to the Crown Prince (insincerely, Elsa decides). Prince Caleb doesn't seem to notice.

It has been far more of a challenge to keep Hans close since the delegation from the Southern Isles arrived. Elsa decided she needed to carefully balance perception with propriety. While Anna, and by extension – Kristoff, has had years of watching and hearing of their interactions to become accustom to the ebb and flow of Hans and Elsa without much question (Anna pointed out years ago how _inappropriate_ they are at times), others have not and she won't have talk of anything _torrid_.

She's been so careful not to be alone with Hans, vigilant regarding not allowing him to initiate any touch or intimate proximity, and conscious of the way Prince Caleb _watches._ It has been the intent way with which the Crown Prince has seemed to study her that has stirred her suspicions that he's really here to negation for something other than military support. Something that has _nothing_ to do with infrastructure, tariffs, taxation, or trade – but rather something she suspects is influenced by his Queen Mother.

Hans comes to where she's seated at the head of the table, making a show of kneeling beside her, his voice overly sincere, "Of course, my Queen." Hans eyes darken as he threatens to make motion to capture her hand in his, snapping her focus back to him. Elsa suspects that he's taken offense to the sudden _distance_ he's forced to maintain, and has stepped up his efforts to be irritating. Most likely in retaliation.

"You kiss my hand with a flourish," she whispers privately to Hans, "and I'm going to shove snow down your collar."

Hans has a twinkle in his eye, "Careful, that just may be what I am after."

"I wouldn't be surprised if it was," she says leaning forward to shove him discreetly towards the door before he can press lips to her skin. "Now, go."

He grins playfully as he rises, "Thoughtful _and_ dismissive."

He offers her a nod as he steps out the door and pulls it closed behind him.

Silence settles in the room as Elsa steadies herself, "Your Highness, I sense we are both motivated by action. These games, the back and forth from the last few sessions defining terms of a treaty, do not become us."

Prince Caleb smirks, wetting his lips before replying carefully, "Well said, ma'am."

"Let us end this pretense of negotiations now." Elsa shifts to rest her shoulders informally against the tall back of her seat, "What is it your King wants from Arendelle in return for his assistance and support with our conflict with Weaselton?"

The Crown Prince seems to weigh his words as he watches her, she thinks of strategy and wonders what he sees when he looks at her. She wishes she felt more like Helen of Troy – Kingdoms launching fleets, going to battle over her, but at the moment she feels simply like an enamored schoolgirl. A girl who happens to sit upon a throne and wields dangerous magic and who wants the object of her suppressed affection to wage war for her.

Prince Caleb leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, adjusting an embroidered cuff as he says, "My King sees opportunity to offer a strong alliance with Arendelle and gain new ties with the North that we have thus far been unable to secure. He feels that perhaps Admiral Prince Hans Westergård is the smartest match available to you and the needs of your Kingdom, and would like to offer a more _dynastic_ arrangement in exchange for his assistance. After all, the defense of one's Kingdom is of the utmost priority to a ruler, is it not?"

She blinks.

_Dynastic arrangement?_

Her breath catches painfully in her throat, she swallows forcefully.

"His Majesty is offering a marriage accord?" She says cautiously, fingertips pressing into the meat of her palm.

Elsa is certain that if that is what Caleb has come to offer as terms, it is not the King's idea, but rather the Queen's. Her heart is racing, having _one_ \- failed to anticipate such a demand, and _two_ \- being stated so boldly. She's suddenly trying to find her footing as she feels her control of the last few days slipping out from under her feet.

"Quite simply, yes." Caleb says. "However, the Southern Isles is sensitive to the, shall we say, _history_ , between your family and Prince Hans, and do not wish to have our desires perceived as coercive."

Her lips twitch, "But they are."

"Somewhat." Prince Caleb says lightly, "But isn't' that always the way of such things?"

_Yes. Yes, it is._

"What is the arrangement? The terms?"

"Two parts," Caleb says as he draws a pressed piece of parchment from his pocket, unfolding it as he explains. "Arendelle may have two years, with the assistance of Admiral Prince Hans Westergård and one half of a flotilla from the Southern Isles, to remove the Duke of Weaselton from power and institute a provisional government."

_Okay._

"It will be at that time, you make your decision – you implement a local government supported by Arendelle and relinquish Prince Hans from further obligation or service, returning to the Southern Isles," Caleb says as he glance up at her from the parchment, "At that time he will be wed to whom the Crown has identified as a fitting union for a Southern Islander Prince. Your other choice will be for Arendelle to relinquish control of Weaselton to the Southern Isles, and you take Prince Hans in marriage as your Prince Consort, creating more a permeant unity and relationship between kingdoms."

She hates the way her heart flutters excitedly at the words _take Prince Hans in marriage._ Elsa focuses her eyes to the parchment in Caleb's hands, "And what happens if Arendelle is unsuccessful? At two years?"

"You may still take Prince Hans in marriage, and Arendelle may decide at that time how to best resolve her conflict with Weaselton with Admiral Westergård by your side. Should you choose not to marry, then Admiral Westergård and the flotilla return to the Southern Isles."

Wait.

Elsa sits straighter, "What motivation would Hans have to end the conflict in a timely manner? If he fails, he becomes the Prince Consort of Arendelle, just as he wanted at the time of my coronation."

"He's not to know of the conditions of his service. Only you and His Majesty are aware of the actual terms of the treaty."

Elsa begins to protest, just as Caleb adds, "Should Hans learn of the terms, then the Southern Isles will withdraw all support, including his presence in Arendelle." Caleb shrugs as he shift back in his seat, "Truthfully, Hans has been most adverse to prior betrothals. Quite uncooperative much to the dismay of Queen Alessandra." Elsa could swear she hears amusement in his voice. "However, she seems to think this would be _different."_

_Ah. There it is._

Prince Caleb continues, "Admiral Prince Hans Westergård will know he has two year of service, and that you choose which Kingdom will establish the provisional government upon his victory. It will be at that time the other stipulations are fulfilled."


	23. Chapter 23

**_Two years earlier…_ **

"A penny for your thoughts?" Elsa says softly, as not to startle the rather stoic appearing auburn-haired Admiral standing at the railing of his bridge, watching the sunset.

Hans looks over his shoulder to her, dropping his gaze to meet hers as she comes beside him. The corners of his mouth pull slightly into a frown as he sighs in contemplation. "For you, My Queen, they are always free." A forced smile that lacks any sort of his usual flirtatious bravado then graces his lips.

Elsa releases an amused breath as she mirrors his stance, arms braced on the railing. "Last night in Arendelle," she says.

Elsa can't stop her mind from swirling a storm over the idea that he is off to war, for her. The conflict years ago with Weaselton and the Barrier Islands weighed so _differently_ than this. She feared for her people, her sailors - the safety of her kingdom. This time she is on the offensive, a fight occurring far away, yet still fearful for the safety and well-being of her sailors and people. And terrified of losing Hans. The epiphany that similar emotions must be felt by the families and friends of the men she is sending into battle triggers terrible fear over her decision, casts dark shadows of guilt over the declaration.

"Last night in Arendelle," he repeats quietly, a complexity to his voice she doesn't recognize breaks her out of her thoughts.

She stays silent, watching a gull soaring in the orange-hued sky. Finally she states, "I should attend the peace summit this year. I can…I'm healing, the physician can accompany me. _Try_ to negotiate in person with – "

"No."

"But –"

"You said it correctly before, Elsa. A madman cannot be reasoned with. And you've tried; the only conflicts Arendelle has faced during your reign have been from Weaselton." Hans turns, crossing his arms tightly, fingers grasping into his arms. He's wearing no gloves as he stands before her in his sea uniform. A medal distinguishing his present appointed service to Arendelle displayed above the others on his jacket, over his heart. "Weaselton clearly won't stop until you are off the throne. Abdicating to Anna would likely be futile, anyway. The next step would be to see you dead."

"I would never ask Anna to take on - _this,"_ Elsa spits out bitterly, finding the suggestion that she would selfishly burden her sister offensive. She then realizes she has previously, naïvely choosing a kingdom of isolation over her duty and responsibility. What she was born for. _Go back home, your life awaits,_ she had said in her ice palace as Anna tried to convince her to return home to the castle with her. She tried to force the throne upon Anna. "Once was more than enough," she says embarrassed.

Hans smiles, sympathetic. "I now know how scared you were at your coronation. And you're scared now."

Elsa blinks, confused at his observation. "Well, yes." Her fingers tingle with nervous magic, itching to release frost or ice or _a storm._ "This war won't be easy, and it won't be short."

"War rarely is."

"I'm scared for my people." With her whispered confession she finds herself wrapped tightly in his arms, his face buried in her hair, and she can't stop the soft sob that escapes her throat. She frees her arms, embracing him just as tightly and lost in the drumming of his heart in her ear, then allows the moisture to pool in her eyes before screwing them shut.

"You are doing the right thing, ending this now."

Elsa whispers, "I'm not sure I am."

A warm hand is at her back, rubbing slow circles, soothing her worry and panic as she slowly melts into him. "If you were sure, if you lacked the insight into what could go wrong, you'd be a terrible leader."

She huffs, humorously, as she nestles herself into him further. Shifting in his arms brings her sight to his chest of medals. "Arendelle looks good on you. Her crest suits you."

Hans chuckles, "Would it be strange for me to agree with you?"

"Maybe a little, given your heritage." Elsa lips twist slightly, blinking past the mist in her eyes. "I – I. I couldn't do this without you, Hans. You've been my most important confidant and advisor. Become someone I hold dear."

Hans grins, "I promise not to tell Anna what you just said. I seem to have heard somewhere she is your _Most Important._ "

Elsa mirrors his smile with a blush, "She's a very different _Most Important One._ Trust me."

He brings a bare hand to cup her face gently, thumb swiping the moisture away. "Elsa, I may not have chance to tell you this later – please forgive me for my timing, but –"

"Sh – no." Elsa interrupts, almost frantic, unable to hear what she suspects he is going to say. A declaration of emotion to her that will break her now to hear. She can't. "I – I'm not ready, Hans." She is ostensible when she says, "I need time. If that is what is to become of us."

Elsa can feel the race of Hans' heart, the catch of his breath, " _Oh Elsa._ I. I shall wait until the end of time, if that is what you need from me. I swear to you."

She can't hold his gaze and looks at his chest once more, to the laurel of Arendelle's service, unable to say anything more.

"I will write you, as I can." Hans says.

He's offering her comfort in his written words, but it is infinitesimal to what she truly needs or wants from him. "My personal correspondence shall be penned with Prince Hans, official communication with Admiral Westergård." Elsa nods her head, pulling him closer.

"I will stop Weaselton, I promise." He unwraps himself after long minutes, when her breathing has slowed and the stuttered gasps have subsided. "Weaselton will be under Arendelle's control within two years."

Elsa finds herself overwhelmed, wishing to grab his lapels and pull him to her to kiss goodbye. She is rocked by the idea that it may be her first and last kiss with him, should something go terribly wrong. In that moment, the moment she would later regret, she decides she would rather never known his lips than _to have known_ _them_ , and lost them. She swallows thickly instead, "I will write, simply with _Elsa,_ if it is personal in nature." In the next heartbeat she pleads, "Please come back."

Hans nods, eyes glistening with unshed tears and fixed at her lips. She finds herself praying _he_ might close the distance between them, steal her breath with a kiss; instead he wraps his bare hands around one of hers, caressing as he raises it to his lips to press his kiss to her hand. "On my honour."

* * *

Elsa learns of the grim nature, the truth of war, through his letters – and grows to _hate_ their arrival. While Hans' letters symbolize simply that he is alive and she is in his thoughts, the contents vary and contain realities and stories that haunt her sleep.

She pens far more personal correspondence than he pens her, his time preoccupied ensuring naval tactics and strategies are novel and effective in slowly taking Weaselton. He writes his appreciation of the glimpses at her present life, glimpses that allow him a momentary escape from _his_ present life, regardless of how short the notes are he receives.

_oooOOOooo_

_Hans,_

_I write this after hearing fantastic news that I simply cannot stop the glow of excitement and anticipation from escaping from every part of my being!_

_Anna is pregnant!_

_A spring babe is expected, I have made no secret that I wish for another little boy. This is simply due to the fact that Kristoffer desperately needs a male companion to pester him, and I say this with extreme affection. He needs (or rather, deserves) a little brother, badly. This morning at breakfast, he offered his father a gift – a rather large, hairy spider that I confess I gasped in fear of as he placed it roughly upon the table and it marched towards me. Luckily Kristoff rescued the pest before I could freeze it – yes, I absolutely was going to do that. I won't tolerate bugs and insects inside the castle. I regret not having that conversation earlier with the child. And poor Anna missed all the excitement because she's battling terrible nausea with the pregnancy, has already lost a little weight which is of great concern. Ginger tea isn't helping much._

_Stay safe, come back soon._

_Elsa_

oooOOOooo

_Elsa,_

_Firstly, congratulations to Kristoff and Anna - very exciting. I hope Anna feels better soon, I understand some mothers have a terrible time with morning illness during their pregnancies. I confess I would be absolutely befuddled with a daughter. No idea what to do, what to expect - aside from wishing to run my blade through every possible suitor as she comes of age._

_I beg your forgiveness for the crudeness of my next comment, but I cannot resist as you've made it abundantly clear over the years that you already expect such nonsense from me:_

_Comandare é meglio che fottere._

_The Sicilian who decided that, I've decided, was wise indeed. After watching the debauchery of port-call here in the Southern Isles for much needed repairs and supplies, that while the two are evidently intertwined, the pleasures of power are even greater than the pleasures of sex. I reflect upon my actions from previous years and wonder what on earth I was thinking, then wonder why you have been so abundantly patience with me. Honestly. Thank you._

_Thirdly, my dear Queen Mother has been peculiar during this visit, making no attempts at inviting her most favorite young courtiers to dine privately with me as is her usual modus oporandi. In fact, the usual litany of feasts and galas that I enjoy identifying her least favorite courtier and irritating her by offering my attention to have failed to occur. I can't help but be suspicious._

_Your humble servant,_

_Hans_

_oooOOOooo_

_Hans,_

_Ignore your Queen Mother - and yes, there is little you can say that would shock me, or offend my delicate sensibilities: for that, I blame you entirely._

_Prince Maurice, The Duke of Orleans has arrived in Arendelle, with a much needed diversion from war-time efforts: the ballet. I confess I hopelessly adore the beauty and elegance of the entire experience: the stage work, the costumes, of course the dancers themselves. His dearest friend, Phillipe, has come to help establish a ballet theatre here in Arendelle. He has received immense support in the form of sponsors and patrons, families who are interested in a ballet school being established, a new building and stage, and even a new orchestra. It has been wonderful for morale, as well as a fabulous excuse for Maurice and Phillipe to visit and travel together._

_Do trust I miss you terribly, those short weeks of your presence in Arendelle were something I realize now, I grew very accustom to._

_Elsa_

_oooOOOooo_

_Elsa,_

_Trust I miss your strength of spirit and sharp wit. I fell victim to your charms and presence in my daily life too easily._

_Ah – so you know of Maurice and Phillipe? That is all I shall ask, in case I misunderstood you. Will they be with you for the winter season?_

_The last few battles have gone terribly, Weaselton has successfully recruited alliances from Asia, increasing their firepower and naval presence. With winter almost upon us, I regret to inform you that this shall not be ending quickly._

_Hans_

_oooOOOooo_

_Hans,_

_No, no. You understood my meaning perfectly. I am aware of their relationship, tragic as it is that they can't be together the way they wish to. I have tried to provide as much privacy as possible for them here in Arendelle, to which both Maurice and Phillipe are grateful. Thus far, I have not had word of any rumors from the courtiers – they actually assume Prince Maurice is here to attempt to court me! Maurice attempted to correct such misperceptions, but I informed him such rumors are of little consequence to me, and if they should help to provide a shroud around his relationship with Phillipe, then I shall not discourage the gossip. Again, he was quite grateful._

_Anna's pregnancy is progressing nicely, Kristoffer has finally warmed-up to the idea of a sibling, but he's decided the babe must be a little girl – a Princess. Anna is hoping he is right. I still feel another Prince would be appropriate. Just a few more months!_

_We've already had our harbors partially frozen twice, this may be my last letter to you this season. I miss you – I wish you were wrong, and Weaselton was on the cusp of collapse. Regardless, the Arendelle shipyards are prepared to deliver three new battleships to the fleet the first of spring._

_Elsa_

* * *

Elsa writes to families of the sailors who lose their lives in battle, each letter painful and personal. She can imagine quite clearly the loved ones reading the carefully measured phrases which offer praise and condolences, turning the awarded medals over in their hands – wishing only for their loved ones.

Another year passes, no end in sight for the war being waged. The spring peace summit is cancelled. And Anna gives birth to a beautiful baby girl - Elisabeta.


	24. Chapter 24

**_Three months earlier…_ **

Kristoffer's small, amused snicker fails to register in Elsa's consciousness, as does Kristoff's quiet directions to him to, well, _stop_. The even louder belly-laugh from one-year-old Elisabeta, which is followed by a squealed clap, escapes notice as well.

" _Elsa_." Anna tries.

She doesn't hear her name called, either. Her mind is stuck, like sap frozen to a tree in the dead of winter, on the words written upon the parchment held in her hand:

_…_ _Lord Fredrick, Sovereign ruler and the Duke of Weaselton, respectfully requests the immediate cessation of all acts of aggression and desires to open negotiations related to immediate remediation of terms for Weaselton's surrender to Arendelle…_

Elsa's chest aches, having forgotten to _breathe,_ then gasps as she drops her spoon onto the china dinner plate with a clank. Her breath is hardly beyond a whisper as she says, " _It's over_."

"Elsa?"

"It's over." Elsa gasps once more, louder, the blood rushing loudly in her ears and preventing her from hearing her own voice. "He's surrendering."

In the next moment Anna is beside her, reading the missive over her shoulder, "Oh. Wow. That explains the snow."

Elsa blinks, focus shifting to her surroundings. _Yes_. Snow – her snow. At the dinner table.

Elsa stands abruptly, chair scrapping the wood and knees bumping the table as she rises, "It's over." She waves an irritated hand in the air, snow dissolving back to where it came from, the potential of her magic regressing back under control. Her eyes dart to the bewildered young page dispatched with the missive of Weaselton's surrender, who is staring at the pile of snow left at her feet with his mouth agape, forgotten.

She follows the poor young man's gaze to see her nephew who has managed to escape from his seat at the table (a terrible habit of his, honestly; Kristoff assures her that essentially all three-year-old boys must be tied down if you truly want them to stay in one place) and begun scooping up balls of the white stuff under the table. She glances back up to the page, apologetic smile offered as she says, "Arendelle accepts the invitation to open negotiations for ultimate surrender of Weaselton. France shall serve as the neutral mediator, meetings to occur in two weeks' time. We shall make preparations for a delegation's departure immediately."

With a shallow bow the page stutters through words of his respect and thanks, seemingly grateful to follow Kai to retrieve the necessary paperwork to present upon his return to his ship. The poor young lad slightly disturbed by the sudden display of Elsa's powers, right before his eyes, Elsa suspects. She realizes as she watches him, that that most, if not all, of Weaselton, may possess a certain degree of wariness – or fear, of her powers. It reassures her that resisting the urge to simply freeze the blasted place until Lord Fredrick surrendered was the right choice. She had done it to Arendelle once, thus was confident she could again, to another kingdom, if necessary.

_Don't be the monster they fear you are…_

Elisabeta's small wail snaps Elsa's attention back to the dinner table (as does the harsh way Kristoff and Anna reprimand Kristoffer's name in unison), finding her darling niece sputtering a cry. The poor girl has been dusted in snow by the snowball pitched at her as she sits in her highchair, ginger curls that frame her beautiful little face now powdered white. By a grinning Kristoffer.

She can't suppresses her excitement regarding the negotiations for surrender, joy and relief that the war is _finally over_. It all leaves her with a playful euphoria that she impulsively channels into to making the situation worse for Anna (and Kristoff – but that's not the point); deciding that, no. Oh no. _Little Prince Charming_ didn't.

_Not to my Fair Princess…_

Kristoffer finds himself buried in snow, stammering in his startled voice, "No fair!" He manages an offended glare that is remarkable similar to one his mother is offering Elsa at the same moment. Evidently Anna _does not_ appreciate Elsa's intervention. The look leads her to believe that in the moment, Anna feels Elsa lacks any reasonable sort of _maternal instinct._

No matter.

"Darling, I'm the Snow Queen." Elsa smirks as she looks back at Kristoffer, just a twitch of lips before smiling sweetly as she adds, "I shan't have my _Fair Princess_ tormented by the likes of my _Prince Charming_."

She's fairly sure she heard something to the effect of _Evil Queen_ under the boy's breath, likely reference to her usual role as she plays with her old iced figures with him and his sister, but she's too excited to care as she rushes from the room to summon her council, pressing a kiss to Anna's cheek on her way out. "It's over!"

Anna traps her in her arms, squeezing her own excitement to Elsa before returning the quick kiss to a cheek, "It's really over. And that boy is in serious trouble. I'm telling Kristoff that his son is officially ready to be raised by trolls now."

* * *

Elsa feels as if time has jumped, abrupt and unbalanced as she steps ashore in France, the soft warm breeze from a spring day tickling her neck with the tendrils of hair blown free from her plait. It is Prince Maurice, beside Elsa, who grounds her to this place and time as he offers his arm to her, showing her to awaiting carriages to escort her and her delegation to Versailles.

"I. I can't imagine this happening – now. After all this time. I am so relieved." She wraps her arm into his, his warmth radiating between them. He's dressed in a fetching hunter green velvet jacket, golden embroidery elegantly done. The finest of fashion, of course.

"Of course, Elsa – I too share in your excitement that such a terrible chapter in your Kingdom's history is coming to an end." Maurice sighs, "And now you, my darling Arendelle Queen, are long overdue for a happily-ever-after."

"Thank you," Elsa says softly. She's not shared with anyone the terms of the treaty with the Southern Isles; Maurice has no idea how close his comment hits to the frantic flutter of nerves in her belly. Not even Anna truly knows, the first actual secret between them since hiding her power for thirteen years. She had shared that the Southern Isles were looking for a _dynastic alliance_ in exchange for support – but the version of the treaty that was filed in Arendelle negates the language that explicitly spells it all out. That version was dated and timed just following the first version, the public version, and kept private until Elsa makes her choice.

Elsa had fallen silent before adding, "I appreciate your willingness to greet me, Prince Maurice. Although I suspect you were truly coming to see if I brought Phillipe with me, without telling you first." Phillipe had taken residence in Arendelle over the last year, with the new ballet theatre as artistic director, resulting in a temporary separation that neither man was thrilled with. Prince Maurice had maintained the pretense of courting Elsa, facilitating frequent visits to Arendelle without question from his parents, the French court, or hers. Even Anna had teased Elsa regarding Maurice's interest in her, as if he were a suitor, unaware of his relationship with Phillipe.

"Perhaps," Maurice grins as he raises his chin, "Phillipe's need to work with his debuting Prima in preparation for your jubilee celebration in Arendelle _evidently_ takes precedence over a visit with a _Fils de France_. Although I confess, part of why I love that man so terribly is how he can so easily put me in my place."

Elsa grins at the Prince's observation, "Not always his top priority?"

Maurice sighs dramatically with a tilt of his head, "He loves me, but no. Especially when it comes to his craft. He inevitably becomes so grumpy – and sore, from working with the ballerinas in preparation for debuts. No fun, what-so-ever, honestly. Even when he was living in Paris." Another theatrical shift of shoulders, eyes pulling into a most pathetic expression as he adds, "We are like an old married couple, I dare say." Elsa laughs, light and soft at his observation, delicate hand covering her smile as she ducks her head.

Prince Maurice pulls himself tall once more, as he says quietly, "How long has it been? Since you last saw Prince Hans?"

The sudden sound of Hans' name spoken out loud triggers an odd lump to form in Elsa's throat, painful like tears to swallow down. She keeps her eyes carefully trained downward at the white pebbled path they are walking upon, not daring to reveal the sudden moisture that pools in her eyes. It takes a moment in silence for her to find her voice. "Oh," Elsa swallows again, Maurice already knows her response. He's likely just looking for an opening to _that_ conversation again. "Almost two years. Not since he left Arendelle at the start of the war." She has no idea how she's to manage these negotiations.

"I remember from your letters how affronted you were with his grooming at one point," Maurice says playfully, likely assuming her awkwardness is related to such thoughts. "Do you fear he will have slipped into that once more?"

Elsa laughs at that, raising her chin to see Maurice's appropriately horrified expression at the thought of a fully-bearded Hans. Elsa suddenly pauses her steps as she catches sight of a flash in the distance of red hair in the afternoon sun, a navy blue coat waiting at the carriage. Her gaze focuses and in her next breath she is overwhelmed by the reality that the navy blue coat is worn by Hans, as is the most handsome smile as he stands holding himself so proud waiting for her. His hair is still cut short, sideburns groomed neatly and without any terrible facial hair - he's aged, just as she has, a maturity and _wisdom_ to him that she can't explain _,_ the toll of war having only added to how much more attractive she finds him. Something familiar and wonderful flutters inside as Elsa's breath rushes from her with the realization that he moves her more in a moment than the Earth must spin in a year, because she's absolutely unaware of how she came to be folded in his arms, gasping his name into his chest, his gentle whisper private in her ear, " _My Queen._ How I have missed you."

_In front of her entire staff and delegation._

* * *

Maurice falls silent quickly, then feigns sleep during the too short carriage ride to the castle at Versailles ( _a_ _two hour ride_ ) as he sits beside Hans, across from the bench Elsa is seated upon. She's managed to discreetly edge closer to Hans as he stretched out his long legs, tangling her feet between his as he talks. Elsa is so grateful to Maurice, granting Elsa a tiny semblance of privacy with Hans prior to delving into the seriousness of talks ahead. Hans tells her tales, filling in what she knows of his experiences and _life_ since his last letter to her. She can't stop the shy smiles, the effervescent giggles that she helplessly releases as he speaks. His eyes are bright and _happy_ as she shares the latest antics of her niece and nephew, eliciting rueful chuckles at some of cheekiness of her _Little Prince Charming._

They fall silent for a spell, natural lull in conversation that Elsa finds comfortable as she sighs and looks out the window.

"My mother, as well as the Crown Prince, have arrived for talks." Hans says quietly. "I understand my brother's presence, a necessary representative of the Crown given Arendelle's treaty for my support, but my mother's I am unsure of."

Elsa looks to him momentarily, catches the curious confusion that matches his tone. She shift her gaze back out the window at the passing French countryside. "She is friends with Queen Belle, is she not?"

"On a certain level, I suppose."

Elsa won't evade anything now; now that things are almost over. But she won't breech her end of the agreement when she is so close to having it all _over._ "What do you think it is then? If not a social visit?"

Hans' teeth clench as he blinks, visibly struggling to put into words _something._ "I. I don't know. But I don't trust that she's not up to something." Elsa dares to meet his gaze as he adds, "I can't shake the suspicion that it has something to do with you."

She fears he can read her in a heartbeat, understanding that she _is_ involved in something more. Despite this, "Do you trust me?"

Not a moment of hesitation his response pulls from him as if a reflex, "With my life." She smiles, an endearing twist of lips as she closes her eyes. Hans asks, "Do you trust me?" His tone is light, humor hinting at the edges of his words.

An involuntary giggle escapes with, "Not exactly." She grins. "I know you too well. I'd like to think, better than anyone else."

Hans pouts playfully, eyes flirtatious. "Fair enough. I daresay, you are a wise Queen. I've missed you."

"As have I."

* * *

It is the next morning, and chaos and turmoil greet Elsa.

"Please, _Mademoiselle –"_ a young French handmaiden implores as Elsa tries to enter the guest wing where soldiers and detectives are flooding in, a physician slowly walking past her. "It is a gruesome sight, not fit for a Lady to set eyes upon."

"What in the world is going on?" Elsa demands as yet _another_ French soldier moves to stand in her way.

"It appears it is a murder-suicide." Maurice says softly from behind her, suddenly, wrapping his gloved fingers loosely around her elbow to pull her back from the commotion. "Lord Fredrick and his wife. The discharge of a revolver was heard early this morning, shortly after their bodies were found it their locked guest chambers."

_Oh no._

Elsa is left speechless, eyes searching Maurice as if there must be more to all this. It can't end like this. They came all this way, after all that has happen and all he had done, to end it like this?

Maurice's lips are thin as he adds, "The Southern Isles delegation is unaware. I was preparing to inform them when I heard you had arrived on the scene of the crime. Come with me?"

She's only half-heard, nodding dumbly as she takes his arm and proceeds towards the other end of the French palace.


	25. Chapter 25

**_Three months earlier..._ **

_Oh figs._

Hans' eyes were trained on Maurice as the French Prince spoke, sharing what was known, what wasn't, and the impact on the negotiation for surrender with Weaselton. Elsa had the benefit of watching Hans' mask slip into place in the blink of an eye, stoic and grim at the news of the crime as the Southern Isles delegation was informed of the Duke and Duchess' deaths. It was a fitting reaction to the news, truly – horrific and gruesome as it was.

But as Elsa quietly stood beside Maurice and before the group that was gathered, somewhat in shock herself, she had felt something _tug_ at her, unsettled and suspicious. Then wondered _why._

Why did he have the need to raise the mask? Was she certain that is what she saw? Years have taught her that she's terrible at reading people, and her instincts are just as terrible - it was absolutely conceivable that Hans was managing a multitude of emotions in that moment; anger over the need for senseless war when _this_ was the Duke of Weaselton's ultimate fate. Perhaps feeling some sort of grief and loss at hearing of the death of a woman who was, at one time, his lover. It was conceivable that he felt helplessness over the fact that he was unable to intervene, to stop senseless killing which stole lives and created more turmoil. And all this on top of the uncertainty that was about to ensue, shifting his life and world (he did not have quite the same insight that she had, but he recognized things will _change_ – no longer serving Elsa and Arendelle) as a treaty was signed. Dealing with her own dark storm of emotions and the need to maintain formality, Elsa did not have opportunity to ask. And Hans did not offer.

And that was fine. She had thought.

However, it is not _fine -_ for it is the same mask Hans wears now as a French detective, short in stature with a salt-and-pepper mustache and lips pulled thin, requests something of him, after having quietly pulled him aside from the others who had gathered in the drawing room just a few hours later that afternoon with Queens.

"Pardon, Queen Elsa," Maurice says quietly in her ear, "I fear my presence is need."

Elsa nods, eyes catching the angry shift of Hans' stance, shoulders squaring while he draws himself taller as Maurice approaches the men. Irritation flashes in Hans' expression as he snaps, _"No,"_ loud enough that she can hear the ire in his tone, his dark gaze intimidating and fixed on the detective. Maurice is the exact opposite; instead wearing a calm and imploring expression as he gestures with one hand towards the Queens, then places that hand gently on Hans' shoulder. It is a reassuring gesture. One of an old friend. There is a charismatic smile and something said to the detective that elicits a smirk from the older man. Within moments the group steps out and with it, Elsa's ability to ignore the suspicion Hans has raised. Elsa looks towards Queen Belle and Queen Alessandra, who are talking softly and evidently completely unaware of the worry Elsa feels.

_What is going on?_

The delegation from Weaselton arrived a day earlier, the Duke and Duchess not in custody yet as the terms of surrender had not been agreed upon; they were _guests_.

Elsa had spent the prior evening playing cards with Hans and Maurice, enjoying a bottle of champagne to celebrate the occasion and laughing terribly hard (her stomach _ached_ with the frequency of her chortling, each round of uncontrollable giggles ending in tears as she scolds them for their disgraceful behavior).

There was no mention of the war, battles, the Duke of Weaselton, or of Anna-Marie.

No.

Hours were spent enjoying delightfully embarrassing stories of Maurice and Hans' antics over the years as they reminisced, Maurice offering Hans his side of the experiences he'd shared with Elsa over the last two years, Elsa trying to defend herself against some of his accusations that she's a _stick-in-the-mud_ and _needs to lighten up_. She had shamelessly basked in the entire experience, the two men she holds dearest in her life (who were not family, that is) smiling and _happy._

Elsa couldn't help the anticipation of upcoming negations from pushing to the forefront of her thoughts – _I can have this. I can choose to relinquish control of Weaseltown to the Southern Isles._ She caught herself imagining Hans by her side and a child in her womb, attending the Arendelle Ballet Theatre with Maurice and celebrating the success of it all with Phillipe by his side. A life of joy to be shared. Her mind would catch with each genuine smile offered, each paused moment when her eyes met Hans'.

_I can have this – I want this._

She had parted ways with Hans at her chamber door, a lingered press of lips to her knuckles, a heated glance through dark lashes that told of his desire for _passion._ It was all Elsa could do to remain upright, knees weak as she breathlessly whispered, "Good night, my _Heroic Prince."_ She fell asleep imagining the consequences of the words, _Arendelle will relinquish control and authority of Weaselton to the Southern Isles_ – and the look on Hans' Queen Mother's face when Elsa _demands_ (Elsa's lips pull a slight smirk at that) Hans' hand in marriage.

That was last night.

She has no idea what he did, or where he went after that.

Staring into her teacup, Elsa is mentally too far away trying to make sense of what she was feeling when she realizes the room is silent.

And has been for some time now.

Elsa blinks, eyes wide and slightly embarrassed, as she catches Queen Belle smiling shyly at her. "I had hoped the rumors were true, of course. Adam and I are delighted at the prospect. You've been so good for Maurice."

_Wait. What?_

Queen Belle's voice, though shy, holds such kindness and optimism. "Especially after all of Maurice's insistence over the years. Insistence that he would never find such friendship and love in his life as he obviously has with you," Belle's eyes are alit with a warmth and joy that Elsa fears is not so wildly out of place. A loving mother, overjoyed with a child's happiness. After all, it's been two years of frequent visits by Maurice to Arendelle, exchanged correspondence and gifts – a carefully hidden relationship with Phillipe under the pretense of courting her. It never occurred to Elsa that… _this_ , what is really a natural assumption regarding her intentions, would occur.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty, I." Elsa manages weakly, awkward smile offered, "I was lost in thought. What was that?" Her eyes dart to Hans' mother.

Queen Alessandra looks far too _pleased_ with the conversation as she sits with refined elegance to Elsa's right of the davenport, the fine dark purple gown highlighting her coloring and eyes, so much like her youngest son _._ Elsa desperately wishes she had caught the start of whatever this is, perhaps then she'd be better able to deflect the surprise she's sure is written plainly on her face.

It is Queen Alessandra who speaks. "You understand how news travels so fast throughout the courts, especially at the possibility of a Royal union." She exchanges a shy smile with Queen Belle, "And France _would_ be such a smart match – new ties to Europe that Arendelle has been thus far unable to secure." She shifts to face Elsa, smile leading a white-hot wave of panic to surge. Queen Alessandra knew – she _knew._

_Oh no…_

_"_ _News?"_

"Of your courtship. With Prince Maurice." Queen Alessandra says. Her eyes are wide, innocent. "Of course, anything official shouldn't occur during war-time efforts. Not when Admiral Westergård, Prince of the Southern Isles, is leading the efforts for your Kingdom. Everyone understands what sort of _misconceptions_ that could raise." The older woman clasps her hands delicately, carefully, in her lap, "But as I was sharing with Queen Belle, an announced engagement should be expected any day!"

Elsa can't stop the slight drop in her jaw, the knit of her brow at the _audacity_ with which this is unravelling around her. Hans' mother's smile pulls sharper, "There is much anticipation felt through-out the region regarding the next chapter of your reign."

Elsa's own anger regarding the manipulation of _her personal life_ in the setting of war flares, "I fear this conversation is far too presumptuous. I – I am…"

"My dear, I am terrible sorry! I didn't intend that – "Belle herself sputters with a blush, "I mean, I simply assumed…"

Elsa decides in the moment that she can't fault Queen Belle, and she can't really fault Queen Alessandra (despite how much she _wants_ to – Elsa is a grown woman, familiar with the games played and manipulations that occur at court and should have _known better_ ). The blame is upon _her_ and _her_ fear of being _honest_ with what she needs, or what she wants, what others may think, and how others may react.

So Elsa shakes her head, raising her hands to placate the now very nervous Queen Belle who appears just as embarrassed as Elsa feels. "Thank you, Queen Belle – no apologies needed. " She smiles and prays it looks as reassuring and sincere as she is trying to be, because she really does adore Maurice and his wonderful family. "This conflict with Weaselton has all been so stressful, weighing heavily on my heart that I have not thought far beyond it." Elsa looks pointedly at Queen Alessandra, daring her to press for more.

She leaves it with Belle _quickly_ changing the subject.

* * *

Elsa finds Maurice and Hans in Maurice's private study, alone, without any detectives or guards. She figures that this is a good sign, but she's anxious and worried and _angry,_ pulling her arms across her chest she grasps at the bony prominence of her elbows, "Tell me." She's fairly sure the temperature of the room has dropped a few degrees, but doesn't care to _fix it._

Maurice and Hans exchange knowing glances as Maurice pulls himself discreetly to the side, and out of Elsa's line of sight.

Elsa must conjure every ounce of patience she has to maintain her posture, her fury, as she waits for Hans to respond.

"I had gone to her, Anna-Marie, to apologize, to ask for her forgiveness." Hans' breath is held, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows his pride. "To forgive me for all I had done, my predatory and manipulative behavior, and apologize for violating the sanctity of her marriage like I had." Hans' eyes are dark, but soften as he looks up at her from the davenport he's seated on beside Maurice near the fire. "I possess a bit more insight than I once had and can recognize that her father should have run me through with a blade years ago, rather that encourage the situation to continue. He was just as awful as I was, and she deserved to be treated better - not simply a pawn. At least, if I had a daughter, running me through would have been my response." Hans looks down to his hands as he leans forward, pressing his forearms into his knees and linking his fingers together.

Elsa is shocked, unable to manage a logical or sensitive response. Instead she says incredulously, "What is suspected? By the detectives?" She can guess, she's not stupid, but wants _him_ to say it. She smirks at his silence, his past actions and behavior having finally caught up to him in a way she _never_ anticipated.

His mouth opens and shuts (to likely to prevent the onslaught of a variety of unspoken, furious retorts). However, he manages to land, "I was seen with the Duchess and it was inferred that it was amorous in nature. That this was somehow a crime of passion. Believe me when I say I had nothing to do with it."

She simply stares, unseeing at the floor under his feet.

Elsa startles at Maurice's voice, saying something to defend Hans that she doesn't hear exactly, dragging her back from her spinning thoughts as she takes a sideways glance at Hans who's leaned his head back against the seat, eyes dark once more.

Consciously ignoring the clamorous pounding of her heart, she tilts her head back to meet Hans' eyes unflinchingly. She wanted to be angry, to feel the churn of fury deep in her stomach about some torrid desire of the flesh he may have had for Anna-Marie, repercussions of his past – instead she's completely thrown that he went to beg for Anna-Marie's forgiveness for what he'd done to her over the years. She's just as thrown by her own sense that he's telling the truth.

The weight of that isn't enough to keep her rooted in place, however. She needs to _flee_ before she freezes the man out of frustration.

"Whatever happens at all happens as it should; you will find this is true if you watch narrowly." She turns on her heel and stalks to the door, it's abundantly clear how frustrated she is with him. As her hand rests on the handle she can hear Maurice stifle a giggle. Her chin snaps over her shoulder to level narrowed eyes at both men when Maurice laughs. Hans glances at him, irritation and embarrassment obvious in his eyes as he drives his elbow into Maurice's side.

Maurice _laughs harder, gesturing._

_At her._

"I don't think Marcus Aureleus had _this_ situation in mind, when he wrote that." A smirk, then Maurice shrugs his shoulders at Hans.

Elsa's too upset for Hans, for them, for what they _can become._ And Hans is doing nothing but making it harder. For this whole _damn_ situation and she didn't even know what had happened. Elsa is too upset to find humor in the moment like Maurice has, to draw parallels to a conversation Maurice and her once had when he quoted a social philosopher out context after a night of drinking and watching the sunrise while opening up to each other.

Instead of a reply, she simply leaves.

* * *

The next time she sees Hans (as well as the rest of the delegations for negotiations), it is when she declares at the head of the grand table, "Arendelle wishes to relinquish control of Weaselton to the Southern Isles and requests the establishment of a provisional government under their supervision."

_There._

_She said it._

Elsa won't release the breath she's held, lips twitching and betraying the fact she's enjoying Queen Alessandra's startled expression _far too much._ But it is Hans' voice, dark and demanding that steals it from her chest.

" _NO."_


	26. Chapter 26

_**Three months earlier...** _

"Elsa," Hans says beseechingly from across the table, eyes wide, " _Please."_

It is strange how a sound, or a smell, or any other vague input to our senses will occasionally snap the mind into a memory. Though a fleeting notion, or momentary flight of thought interrupting the present state of things - it is, at times, powerful enough to overtake us. For Elsa, on the rare occasion this odd retrospective déjà vu should strike, she is left in that moment she's reliving.

This time, Hans' tone as he says _'please',_ leaves her staring at her hands as she pauses to consider what exactly she's doing – similar to when he pleaded with her in her ice palace, _don't be the monster they fear you are._ His words reaching through to her, stopping her.

_(And leaving her distracted until an iced chandelier comes crashing down from above her, knocking her senses and rendering her helpless. This time, something crashes, but not literally – rather something figuratively.)_

As the sibilant of his demand echoes with a hiss in her ears, what she fragilely built around her, this wish to pay the price to have Hans permanently in her life, seems to collapse into nothing. In a rabbit's heartbeat, she _knows_ he's right, can see it all unfold from his eyes. Once again he's the single voice of reason in her world as she falls victim to impulsive desires.

_Oh._

Relinquishing power or control of Weaselton is absurd. It reeks of weakness. Of indecision. Such an action, from an outside perspective, is one of a fool. One that welcomes potential aggressors to take note, to exploit the opportunity. It _screams_ that Arendelle lacks to ability to independently remain sovereign; is incapable of expanding her borders to new territories.

In a manner that only Hans can ever manage, the reality of her choice strikes at her. She's not a girl with a crown upon her head, playing in the throne room when Papa and Mama have gone to bed. She's not the Fair Princess awaiting the arrival of the Heroic Prince. She a sovereign ruler, by right of God and birth, upon Arendelle's throne – her protector. She considers herself a fiercely independent, gracious and wise monarch who's spent the last ten years establishing herself as Queen. Should the legacy of her independent reign be that _she couldn't do it alone?_

Elsa blinks.

_Matters of the heart are of no concern to a monarch._

"I serve my crown," Elsa says quietly, mostly to herself.

Elsa's eyes are fix on Hans, seeing nothing beyond the flecks of gold in his green eyes that interrupt the darkness she sees in them. There is disappointment. Frustration. He wears the look of a man trying to save her from herself. Any notion she had that he may have been aware of the _actual_ terms of the agreement between their Kingdoms disappears into nothingness.

He doesn't know.

Her eyes dart anxiously to Queen Alessandra.

She knew. Her expression has shifted, now one of smug satisfaction and instantly Elsa realizes how awful and _cruel_ the woman is. Elsa is certain that Queen Alessandra has taken every advantage she could to ensure that there would be a moment that backed Elsa into a corner; one leaving Elsa conflicted with the dire urge of fight or flight. Testing her.

_The coward that was your Father, or the timid mouse that was your mother…_

Queen Alessandra did this, just to see what Elsa would do - to see how badly Elsa would self-destruct herself and her Kingdom, or hurt Hans. Elsa suspects there is no choice she could make in this moment, no right or wrong that will preserve what she wanted all along but was too frightened to admit to herself, let alone anyone else.

_(It was an idea, an inkling of desire ten years ago before her coronation when Hans first presented himself to her. She deep down wanted the very same thing then – she was too frightened. She's startled to realize she's no better at facing the ramifications of her choices now than she was then.)_

A persistent tumult of noise had followed Hans' defiance of her declaration; a commotion that failed to initially register with Elsa. But now it does. The loud raucous of voices arguing hits her, and in her shame and frustration, her temper is lost. She screws her eyes shut as she ducks her chin, " _Enough!"_

It is a moment frozen; Elsa stilled with hands slightly raised – fingers splayed wide in the aftermath as her eyes lock with Hans' once more.

_Oh figs._

She's frozen the table; twisted, gnarled ice threatening with its potential.

Indignant displeasure is likely the kindest way to describe Elsa's expression, or so she suspects as she glances around the room at the eyes staring. Her stomach turns with anxiety, a reflex reaction she's helpless to control. She decides that others must presume that her expression is the result of the insult of being challenged so openly by Hans. The fact that _Admiral Prince Hans Westergård, of The Southern Isles, Consortium Fleet Admiral to Arendelle,_ immediately changes tact supports her suspicion as well.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty." Hans says. He tilts his head so he's looking at her through his eyelashes, head bowed, suddenly willing to play his part. "Of course, I yield all decisions regarding such matters to - ."

She wants the Hans who just told her 'NO', the one who'll be as honest with her as he is himself and help her make sense of it all. Elsa's hand raises to silence him, _this Hans,_ eliciting a collective gasp from essentially _all_ delegates seated for negotiations, including Queen Alessandra.

But not from Hans. (After all, their frustrated banter in nothing _new,_ and he's seen her at her worst _._ )

The absurdity of that fact - that glint in his eye that alludes humor, snaps her back and she can almost hear whatever ridiculous thing he's thinking. He looks up at Elsa with his carefully deferential expression _,_ a hint of a smirk as he catches his mother's abhorrent appearance due to his behavior. She suddenly understands how much misplaced joy he gets out of successfully irritating the woman. Her expression is priceless.

Elsa purposely takes her time as she tries to decide how to respond, she wants to speak with him alone, but when his eyebrows hitch questioningly, she can't resist being amused as she scolds. "We have become accustom to speaking freely with one another, Prince Hans. But not in this manner."

There is a horrible hum of satisfied agreement from Queen Alessandra that begs for Elsa's attention. But she won't spare a glance at the woman, instead Elsa's eyes are fixed on Hans as she murmurs, "A word in private, if you please?" She has to gnaw at her lip to suppress the quirk of her lips as he sets features to play _formal_.

"Of course," Hans nods, "Thank you, Your Majesty." His voice overly sincere.

The rooms begins to clear in an instant, chairs creaking as they are returned neatly to the frozen table and boots scuffing at the wood floor as men scurry out faster than rats off a sinking ship. In the flurry of motion, Elsa breathes. And thinks, _I just need to talk to him – to explain._

"I shall remind you, Queen Elsa, that the conditions of our treaty have not yet been fully met." Prince Caleb exchanges a look with his mother and says, "It is necessary, given the circumstances, that a true representative of the Southern Isles remains present to ensure that Prince Hans remembers – " he pauses, as if searching for the right words, "to keep the Southern Isles' best interests at heart."

Hans shoots his brother a rather flat look as he says, "I always have the best interest of His Majesty at heart." If there is a joke there, Elsa lacks the background to understand it. Queen Alessandra simply sighs as she looks to Elsa for her response.

It is then that Elsa realizes she must pick either Prince Caleb or Queen Alessandra, to stay. And she can't very well dismiss the Queen. Her stomach sinks, twisting with a surge of panic.

"Prince Caleb," Elsa says faintly, "Please excuse us." Elsa isn't sure of Queen Alessandra's expression as she rises to speak with Prince Caleb as he proceeds to the door. The Queen says something quietly to Hans who had followed, pausing to press what appears to be a tender palm to his cheek. Something possessive rushes through Elsa in the moment, something wanting to protect Hans from what his horrible mother has done to him - to them. But she can't. Instead, Elsa glances back to the tabletop of ice, thawing it with a flick of her wrist, simply to distract herself from the urge to _freeze_ Queen Alessandra.

There is the click of a door latching shut and suddenly Hans is at Elsa's side, "Elsa." He says frustrated, and _oh,_ Elsa thinks, _THAT Hans is back now that he is without an audience_ , "You can't give Weaselton to the Southern Isles. What are you doing to Arendelle?" Behind him somewhere is Queen Alessandra, snapping his name in reproof.

Hans rolls his eyes.

Albeit weak, Elsa manages, "I am doing this for you."

Confusion twists in his voice, the atmosphere unwelcoming and foreign. He's angry. At her. "Me? How is – I'm not following." There is a look in his eye she's never seen directed at her, something unnamed and she _hates it._

"Hans." His mother says dryly, "Don't pretend to understand the workings of a ruler, nor question them." She's seated herself somewhere behind Hans, watching.

Elsa choose to ignore her. So does Hans.

"Hans, I need – "Elsa starts, thoughts scattered as she desperately tries to explain without violating the treaty but Hans interrupts her attempt with, "What are you so afraid of?"

_Wait._

Elsa blinks, eyes snapping frustrated to his. " _What?"_

"Is that what this is about? You're afraid of maintaining control of Weaselton?"

"I'm not afraid." Her fingers flex and contract, balling at her chest. She is afraid, but not of that, so she pulls her spine taut and raises her chin.

"Then what is it?" Hans says hotly. She can feel herself deflate.

"I. I just. I didn't do this to propagate Arendelle's reach in the region." Elsa stumbled inelegantly over her thoughts, "And I - I realize it is time for me to consider the next stage of my life. Arendelle needs a King to - ."

His voice is low, disappointed, "No. Arendelle does not. She has _YOU._ "

Elsa finds her hands are betraying her, itching to reach for him and tame, "Hans, wait. You don't understand…"

And she's becoming quite upset with not being allowed to finish what she's trying to say when Hans cuts her off again, "There are battles for which you may find yourself ill-equipped, for numerous reasons. But know that the full heft of your powers, and your ability to inspire and persuade, shall suffice."

Hans turns as he runs a frustrated hand through his hair and Elsa's eyes lock on the Queen. His mother's moderately affable manner finally drops. She sighs exasperatedly. "Queen Elsa. Think very carefully of what you want to be known of you, as a ruler."

Both Hans and Elsa pause.

Hans says, "Mother, this is none of your concern. You are simply here…I don't exactly know why, but please. Elsa and I – "

"Hans, this obsession you have with Arendelle and with her must end." Queen Alessandra says pointedly, "It's been fifteen years, and she's simply using you as a pawn – taking advantage of this disturbing motivation you have." The Queen stands beside him now, clasped hands held gracefully before her as she adds, "Honestly darling, what is it? Do you think she loves you? I understand that you have only every pretended to love, for it is far easier, _neater,_ than to feel it."

"You know not what you speak of!" Hans spits, " _Obsession?_ "

Elsa suspects it take little to force furious indignation into his words, his anger coursing through the very fabric of his being, like her ice.

"Love is for children." Queen Alessandra says coldly, a sneer tugging at her lips. "Sentiment is for the weak."

Elsa can feel ice trying to curl around her ankles, along the floor, freezing her in place and incapacitating her. She knows Hans had face a terrible existence, raised in a loveless and poisonous world. Actually witnessing the torture leaves her painfully _frozen._

"Just look at what became that _little tart_ you played with." Queen Alessandra says. "She was weak-hearted fool, easily manipulated and it killed her."

Shattered, Hans takes a step back from his mother, from Elsa, face pulling into a shadow, every ragged line stark.

His mother continues, "Look at you: pathetic, childish _fool._ Squandering your talents for her praise and attention. So thoughtful and _worthy_ is Prince Hans Westergård. Breaking himself apart where no one can see?" For a moment silence hangs painfully in the air. "Love you? You who are not worthy, will never be more than a tool to be used – however useless you actually are. As if one could love a useless _pawn."_

Elsa can't see Hans' face, but she can see his spine: bowstring frayed and ready to snap.

"Stop!" Elsa demands as she finds her voice.

Queen Alessandra glances over to her lazily, "Shall I tell him, or would that take the fun out of all this?"

Elsa can only blink. And breathe, painfully.

"Tell me what?" Hans says, small. Hurt.

"Evidently," his mother says innocently, "you suffer from an arranged marriage."

"No." Elsa says just as hurt, "Arendelle will relinquish control – "

Queen Alessandra says, "Queen Elsa, our treaty clearly included a marriage accord, did it not?"

Hans stares blankly at Elsa, shattering what was left inside, "Yes."

Hans turns on Elsa with indignant rage. Everything that's he's held bottled up, hidden away, explodes. "This was simply a game? An intrigue?! I thought I was waiting for you, that you needed _time. Time for something more!"_ Ice crunches under his boots, harsh and angry as he stops before Elsa. "I could have been happy, happy with just…" he fumbles over words, mouth left agape as he stares unseeing at her. His final blow, "You are _just like her."_

"No," hot tears are spilling down Elsa's cheeks, her breath ragged, "You don't understand. Weaselton is for you."

He's already turned, already walking away. "I don't want it. Any of it. Just. Keep Weaselton, Elsa."

He doesn't bother to slam the door behind him, it stays swung wide. Leaving Elsa alone with his mother.

Elsa is lost, everything broken, left naked and exposed. "What have I done?"

"Don't make yourself a fool, my dear." Queen Alessandra offers softly. Nurturing. "France is a brilliant match." She smiles as she ducks her chin, turning to follow after Hans.

The entirety of the delegations are lined in the hall, eyes wide as whispered voices erupt.


	27. Chapter 27

It was as if Elsa had struck a match, the ensuing flames almost indiscriminately reducing any semblance of hope she had of repairing the damage she'd done to ash. Hans set sail back to the Southern Isles that very afternoon, while she signed the treaty declaring that Arendelle would establish the provisional government overseeing reconstruction of Weaselton.

Just as Hans wanted for her. For Arendelle.

The scandalous glances from the dignitaries are enough to drive her mad, desire to flee towards the nearest mountain top and freeze everything she possibly can overwhelming her. Maurice remains the rock grounding her, preventing her retreat, a sympathetic ear as she confesses to him what she'd mistakenly done; too naïve to foresee the natural conclusion to the chain of events she'd put into place almost two years earlier.

"Hans just needs time." Maurice says, his breath wisped tendrils in the frozen room as Elsa loses control and sobs once more. "Allow him his anger for the moment, it shall pass and he will understand. He'll come to you when he's ready." Elsa wants to believe him. Desperately wants to believe him.

"Come back to Arendelle with me?" Elsa says broken. Lost. She's unsure how she's ever to explain this to Anna, but maybe with Maurice at her side, she can.

* * *

Anna doesn't seem to take what Elsa's done well, at first.

"I warned you not to toy with him. That it wasn't right, obsession or not." Anna says disappointed. Elsa had struggled to try to explain, nervously dismissing Maurice after two failed attempts at it. "You let me believe that you weren't…then you pull _THIS?!_ "

"I wasn't toying with him – I wasn't trying to break him. I promise." Elsa says, disgusted with herself for even thinking that would have been a reasonable thing to do years ago when she was so upset over Hans' affair. Irrationally so. She'd come to her senses, but failed to tell Anna that. Evidently.

"I did tell him I needed time to sort out what was to become of us," Elsa wraps her arms around herself tightly, "I couldn't let him go fight a war without him knowing how important he'd become to me. To Arendelle. That is all."

Anna seems to accept this, her features softening and eyes apologetic. "Oh?"

Elsa nods.

"Okay. Um." Anna suddenly seems rather uneasy. "I might have said something to him."

Elsa blinks. "What?"

Anna's pacing the carpet now makes Elsa nervous, stomach twisting with dread as Anna says quickly, "Oh no. What have I done? I thought you were trying to hurt him, you were so upset that day and you seemed to just be placating me when I told you it was a bad idea," Anna is gesturing wildly as her voice pitches up an octave, " - so I went to Hans and long story short told him what I thought you might do and he told me that was silly and you'd never be cruel and unkind like his mother and the rest of the Southern Isle's court and to not worry about him but he was flattered I cared."

Anna freezes, grimacing as she looks at Elsa.

"That's why he thought that." Elsa whispers.

"I'm so sorry, Elsa!"

"No, no. Don't apologize." Elsa says faintly. She's certain the bile threatening her throat will be victorious with her next breath. Elsa swallows, hard. "My fault for not being honest with you. Or myself…yet again."

"Okay?"

Elsa nods, "Okay."

Anna takes a deep breath and pauses before she focuses on the _next_ issue. Elsa can only stare as then Anna proceeds to scolds her for one, keeping the actual treaty with the Southern Isles secret from her, and two, for keeping it secret from Hans.

"How could you do that to him? I don't believe he was helping Arendelle in hopes of _marriage,_ especially since you've been courted so openly this entire time by Prince Maurice." Elsa blushes as she gasps a soft sob at that as Anna continues, "But to learn that is what you teased him with is horrible! Obligating him unknowingly into marriage. Against his will!"

"I wasn't. I was going to give Weaselton to the Southern Isles," Elsa tries. "For him."

Anna's look is one of skeptic disbelief. Then her frustration shifts more personal; a sister who's hurt herself because a secret was kept, "Elsa you promised me no more secrets. No more closed doors. That's what you did."

Elsa blinks past tears, and snowflakes, "I did. I am so sorry I ruined everything between us again."

Anna sighs, wrapping Elsa into her arms and shushing. "Elsa, I'm sorry too. I love you, and yes I am hurt, but you've not ruined anything." And she echoes Maurice's sentiment regarding allowing Hans _time._ "He'll come around, Elsa. He'll forgive you. After all, you've forgiven him for way worse, if you ask me." Anna chuckles to herself, pulling back to look plainly at Elsa, "He attempted to murder you, if I recall correctly."

Elsa frowns, "That's not funny."

"It's a little funny, ten years later." Anna stifles a giggle. "You forgave him, providing him with friendship. And Elsa, all you did was make a mistake. He'll forgive you, too."

* * *

There were careless whispers of French courtiers which carried across the sea, following Elsa into her own court. She hears word that the same rumors and stories are spreading like wildfire in the Southern Isles as well, her heart breaking at what it must be like for Hans to endure; Prince Hans was made a _fool_ by the Virgin Snow Queen – retribution for his actions in Arendelle almost a lifetime ago. Elsa can drown them out at first, submerging herself, almost violently, into her day-to-day activities of ruling not just Arendelle, but establishing infrastructure and support in Weaselton as well.

Elsa writes him, numerous times, without response. She's certain a there is a particular Queen Mother intercepting the letters, so she pens a nasty one for the old bat to enjoy, informing her of exactly what she thinks of her. There is no reply to that one, either.

The flurried excitement and preparations being made for summer festivities commemorating her tenth year of reign demands her attention and opinions almost constantly. It is excessive, Elsa thinks on most days, but her distracted mind is overly thankful for Anna (and Maurice, at present a flamboyant _traitor…_ one who can't seem to do anything understated _)_ truly overdoing _everything_ because the distraction proves wildly useful. It's only in the dark of night, after the gas lamps have been turned down and the scuttle of footsteps in the castle have quieted that her fragile mind and wounded heart are left to their own devices, freezing the room as she's reduced to gasping through muffled sobs until too exhausted to stay off sleep.

Maurice lingers on the periphery of it all, perched almost precariously as he remorsefully enjoys carefully veiled time with Phillipe – maintaining the charade of the last couple years. Elsa feels very little compelling her to stop it now. Especially after the announcement of Hans' engagement reaches her. She's not surprised by its arrival, but rather how much it _hurts._

(As Queen Alessandra said, an announced engagement anticipated any day…)

* * *

It is during the jubilee gala celebrating her tenth year on the throne, a beautiful and joyous celebration that Hans doesn't attend despite her personal invitation, she makes her offer.

She sits quietly with Maurice and Phillipe, enjoying a quiet moment in the private gardens away from the crowds well after midnight. The night sky is lit with a waning moon, tilted like the sad smile she wears as she says, "Life is too short not to love." Elsa is looking into her champagne, watching the bubbles celebrate and thinking of _him._ Thinking of everything she's done, how she's hurt him, and how it could have been if she wasn't so _afraid._

"Yes," Maurice sighs, Elsa catching the fondness he holds in his eyes for Phillipe. "This distance has been far harder than I anticipated, Phillipe."

Phillipe hums his agreement, a long pause before he says quietly, "I am sorry. Perhaps it is time I return to Paris."

The pair sit in silence, Elsa glancing up and noticing that neither man seems thrilled with that suggestion. "Although we aren't together there, either. We will never be as we long to." Phillipe adds. Maurice's hand captures Phillipe's, a reassuring and comforting gesture as they gaze with uncertainty at each other.

"You are here in Arendelle." Elsa says carefully. With that she feels a rush, a fragmented excitement course through her that she's not felt in months. And an idea blossoms.

She smiles, "I have a proposal. For you both."

Maurice raises a perfectly groomed eyebrow, "My Queen?"

"A marriage accord, between Arendelle and France. It would keep you here, together the way you have wished, and I would have a dear friend as a life-long companion to support me."

"Elsa," Maurice starts, overwhelmed, "What about you? Your heart deserves – "

"A friend. Someone to talk with and confide in, support me as I rule. I don't need physical intimacy, an heir. I just. I." Elsa stumbles over herself, "I want to be happy again." And she smiles. "Helping you both would make me happy. Just say _yes._ "

The men exchange a look, one of unadulterated joy, "Yes."

* * *

Anna is absurdly excited to be in Paris, at Versailles, watching the seamstresses and designer make final alterations to the couture gown Maurice has insisted Elsa wear for the ball.

Elsa's engagement ball.

Elsa's smile spreads because as always, Anna's enthusiasm is highly contagious. The glass of champagne she's been sipping has helped, too. "I thought I would have been just as satisfied wearing a gown of my own design, of my own ice, but this is absolutely exquisite. I was so wrong."

Anna giggles her agreement.

The designer seems satisfied with his work, finally nodding at the seamstresses to finish. He bows with a flourish to Elsa, says something quickly in French that she doesn't catch but he seems to flatter her so she smiles and nods. It is after his departure the seamstresses begin to remove the gown for alterations, leaving Elsa in her shift – Anna is beside her instantly and awkwardly looking at Elsa's side through the sheer fabric.

"Stop it." Elsa giggles as Anna's hand presses gently to her scars. Her champagne flute is thankfully empty or she'd be sloshing the fine French bubbles everywhere.

"I haven't seen them since you were first injured. They've healed well!" Anna says as she swats away Elsa's hands, Elsa attempting to cover the scars before Anna adds confused, "It's so strange how the physician decided to stich this part." Her finger is skimming over a portion of the scar that trails towards Elsa's back, a section she can't ever get a good look at. Not that she wants to.

"Why?" Elsa says.

"It's all straight stitches, until it gets almost to the end, then there is a crisscross stitch – like an "X". Then three more straight stitches."

Elsa freezes. "What?"

"Weird, right? I mean, Kristoff's got scars from stiches, and they are all straight."

Then Elsa is flying to the full-length triad of mirrors she stood before while being fitted for the gown, hiking-up the shear fabric as she grabs at her flesh to see and _damn it!_

_XIII_

She's not sure if she should laugh or cry in that moment, because that _bastard_ marked her. Vague memories of a ship surgeon's comments suddenly come to mind as she chokes on her laugh, almost maniacally. Aside from the obvious indignation she feels, she's absurdly tickled by the idea that she'll carry his mark on her skin for the rest of her life, much like he carries her snowflake. Elsa drops the fabric, allowing it to flutter down her frame and she bites at her lip, suppressing a smile as she says, "Yes. Weird."

* * *

The night is warm, the music beautiful, and the sea of guests gorgeously dressed extends as far as the eye can see. Elsa smiles as she spies through the cracked door, Maurice laughing at her for her curiosity.

"How can you sit so calmly waiting to be announced?" Elsa giggles as she looks over at him, dashing and handsome in his silk jacket that matches her teal gown perfectly. He's got his nose stuck into a novel, of course.

Maurice yawns as he turns a page lazily, "Practice. Years and years of _practice._ "

Elsa smiles wider at that as Anna suddenly comes crashing through a side door, Kristoff beating a path a few steps behind her. "Elsa!"

"Anna?" Elsa says, bewildered.

"He's here. He's here and wants to talk to you!" Anna is winded, and nonsensical.

Maurice rises, snapping the book shut as he comes beside Elsa. His brow is furrowed as he looks past Anna to Kristoff for explanation. "If you please, Kristoff.  Who is _he_?"

Kristoff and Anna reply in unison, "Hans!"


	28. Chapter 28

Ten minutes, Anna had said.

Ten minutes before Elsa must return to the anteroom to rejoin Maurice to officially be presented as the engagement is announced; the future union of a _Fils de France_ and the Snow Queen of Arendelle. The sea of gorgeously dressed people are dancing and celebrating inside, appearing only as swirls of color as they pass the ballroom windows. And all in time to the most divine orchestra whose music is mixing with the soft cacophony of summer insects that can be heard in the distance from the garden balcony she's told Hans is waiting for her on. Anna lies in wait herself, somewhere down a marbled and gilded hall, keeping watch and gifting Elsa the privacy to say everything she's needed to for months.

That is, if Elsa could remember how to do anything other than breathe.

It is with not such a casual glance Elsa scans the shadowed balcony; even the full moon's opalescent light seems unable to fully reach this corner of the castle to illuminate her surroundings. The dim light fails to reveal Hans as he stands waiting to receive her – transforming him into to simply a dark shadow.

"Your Majesty," Hans says, distant. Formal. Shattering the soft symphony of the night that had filled Elsa's ears.

His voice startles her somewhat, truthfully. Elsa quickly turns towards him, yards of teal silk taffeta rustling with the sharp movement as she shoves it aside to face him properly.

Elsa is certain that Hans has the most marvelous collection of eloquently worded thoughts and bitter retorts prepared; venom ready to cut her down for everything she's done. He looks wonderful and _awful –_ achingly handsome. A perfect Prince. Her hands itch to touch, to fold him into her arms and never let go, but it isn't her place to fret over him. She's honestly overwhelmed.

_Breathe in._

"Hello," Elsa tries to say evenly, but she can plainly hear the uncertainty in her voice. She's confident she appears quite stricken, rather than the calm, collected woman she wishes to be.

She presses her shoulder blades back as she links her fingers together, daring to take a step closer to Hans. The step leads her into a ray of the moon's light, casting a bright glow across her face and bare shoulders. Hans seems momentarily overcome as his eyes flick over her, remaining silent and stock-still.

Eventually Hans says, "You look absolutely breathtaking."

Not exactly what she was expecting to hear, honeyed words that sound painfully sincere.

"Thank you." Her lips quirk, pausing before she murmurs, "The gown was not my idea. Maurice certainly has an eye for the finer things."

The sound of their friend's name seems to remind Hans of the present because his expression shifts and Elsa feels her chance start to slip away…

"I'm sorry."

Hans and Elsa murmur remorse simultaneously, from opposite ends of the dark garden balcony.

Elsa's honestly unsure if she heard him say anything at all because her words start in a rush, "You're right to feel betrayed, to feel anger towards me. I won't dispute that fact nor take it from you."

Elsa is desperate to get her words out before something happens, before the moment passes, "I've been a fool. A simpleton. I may be intelligent beyond words in many ways, but I tried – tried to manage a game with you as a prize and trapped you in a terrible way. I hurt you."

Heat is pooling in her eyes, threatening to fall. "The what-ifs are of little consequence now, because I betrayed you. Betrayed your trust and our friendship and I humbly beg your forgiveness for destroying everything."

One small victory, she thinks because Hans' brow furrows as he affords a troubled pause, "Excuse me?"

She feels a helplessness, yet also a reckless sort of bravery as she murmurs, "I'm sorry."

Elsa's eyes dart uneasy around the balcony, uncomfortable for the first time in forever in Hans' presence. They settle momentarily on him. He's wearing a tender smile.

"Oh," Hans says. He takes a step closer and her heart soars, "I forgive you – and fear I must now confess what a pathetic and petty man I am, too proud to recognize what I was doing to you by turning my back on you. Please, Elsa. Forgive me for how I have behaved."

_Oh?_

"At the first test of my honor, a test to reciprocate the grace and forgiveness you had shown me numerous times over the years, I failed." He says with disappointment, "I was too self-centered and vain to realize what I was doing, and I am sorry."

Her breath rushes out, "You came to apologize to me?"

Hans chuckles, gentle nod of confirmation.

"But – I am the one who…"

"No. Elsa – I understand, and I forgive you. I am sorry I behaved in such a manner that you doubted I would."

Elsa can't find the words she needs, can only shake her head with a small confused smile.

"We are quite the pair, aren't we?" Hans says after Elsa remains mute, "Neither really able to understand and do anything but handout broken shards of ourselves to those we care about."

Elsa says softly, "I suppose you are right, although I confess I've never thought about it that way before. I am afraid I have no natural point of reference to understand or know…"

_Love?_

Hans finishes, knows the word she can't seem to say when she falls silent. "To know how to love?"

_Yes..._

That does amazing things to her, hearing Hans say such things, causing a thrill to course all the way to her toes and send a blush to her cheeks. She's too unsure how to admit it. "What are you doing here?" She says instead.

"I've come for you." He says quietly, "A representative of the Southern Isles for the historic anouncement. My Father's idea."

That has Elsa horribly confused, "I don't understand. Why would he send you to my engagement ball if…"

"I am often amused by life's little quirks." Hans chuckles as he interrupts, "Evidently this is one of them. It would seem that my Father wanted Weaselton, and did not appreciate the manipulation of your decision to relinquish it."

"How did he know that was my choice?"

"Caleb told him." Hans says with amusement. "Father was livid with what Mother orchestrated. He had it under good authority that you were going to give him Weaselton, as well as offered the Southern Isles a union with the thirteenth Prince. No man in his rightful mind would have intervened to prevent such a decision. And, I suspect, it would have truly benefited Arendelle's future, not hindered it."

Elsa blinks. "You know?"

"Yes." Hans says, "And I…I understand. I should not have doubted you."

"But now - you are engaged?"

_Oh, how that hurts to say out loud._

"As are you." Hans replies. He sound hurt, terribly so.

Elsa starts and stops, "It. I."

_How to explain?_

"I wanted to be happy. And world held little joy for me without you," Elsa stumbles, "Maurice is a friend whom I trust – I adore him. We have been kindred spirits in so many ways over the years. We won't ever be intimate. We – can't." Elsa can't seem to articulate _elegantly_ what she wants to say, so she tries, "Not that I want to. And Maurice can be with Phillipe, in Arendelle. My Kingdom will have new ties to France, new security to grow and thrive under. An ally gained through marriage."

The way Hans looks at her stabs at her heart, tears open the shattered thing and leaves her painfully raw. She draws a shaky breath and realizes that despite the pain, the agony of the moment for her there is no ice; not a snowflake to be seen. It leaves her strangely proud for the moment.

"Who is she?" Elsa gasps quietly, trembling fingertips brushing quickly the moisture at her lashes before it can pool and fall to stain the silk of her gown.

"Alexandria?" Hans voice is tender, but there is a notable tremor to it as he says her name. "She is the granddaughter of my Father's most trusted advisor. She's been kept from the gossip and awful exploitations of court, rightfully so." He breathes a soft laugh, "She's a brilliant and odd young woman, despite being my junior she is stubborn. She has studied medicine, at Oxford, and wishes to practice as a physician in the Southern Isles; but law prohibits it."

_Oh._

Elsa can't help the stab of envy with how Hans speaks of the woman, the obvious respect and admiration he has for her. "And she wishes to be wed?" To you?"

"No," Hans drops his chin as he paces away from her to one of the stone balustrades of the terrace, "Yes. Sort of. The Crown has signed over an estate, in England, to me. It will be where we go after the wedding." Hans places a gloved hand on the marble, watching his fingers splay flat against the smooth stone. "She has a lover there. His coloring is similar to my own; should she find herself with child, I will claim it. The child will be a Westergård and have the rights and honors of the Crown passed to them. I have told her the estate, the allowance, it will all be hers. I. I simply wish to return to sea."

Elsa is speechless, unsure of what to say, "You. _Why_?"

"The treaty." Hans shrugs, "But I won't go on with life, pretending….she's not you."

Elsa shakes her head, confused.

"My mother was quite correct. My interest in Arendelle began long before your coronation. Really, once I was old enough to aspire for power and respect." Hans sigh, dropping his chin, "In my youth and vanity, I was trying to satisfy that which I felt had been denied to me by my family."

Hans pauses, eyes embarrassed as he confesses, "I had come to Arendelle all those years ago looking win the hand of a future Queen."

"That's not such a strange motivation, for a lesser Prince who's come of age, is it?" She says. "Hans, I already know this."

"After you forgave me, sent me home, I was intrigued; honestly. I was strangely charmed. Perhaps more than I should have been." Hans shrugs with a rueful grin thrown over his shoulder as he turns to face her, "I only wrote to you to see what sort of reaction I could evoked."

Elsa's lip twitch as she leisurely strolls towards him, "You were simply trying to bait me?"

"Yes." Hans says, quirking an eyebrow with a playful nod. "You understand how I, at times, lack any sort of decorum. My attempts to engage you in correspondence infuriated my dear Mother to no end."

"Ah," Elsa says. She should have realized such far sooner, not that it truly matters. "And when I finally did reply? When I finally took your bait?"

"I was absurdly thrilled, and it drove Mother _mad."_ Elsa can hear the suppressed glee in that statement.

"So you persisted?" Elsa stops before him, appropriate amount of space between them.

"Of course." Hans turns, steps closer. "Irritating, aren't I?"

"Quite," Elsa dips her chin, coquettishly looking up to him.

"But. I. I never expected to find - you."

Elsa finds herself delightfully intrigued by his statement, "Me?"

Hans gestures gracefully towards her, "You are like no other woman I have ever met."

And – _oh_. That does horribly wonderful things to the swarm of butterflies fluttering in her chest, leaving her helpless against the gravity and pull she feels towards him. Her steps are small, but sure, as she pulls closer to him.

He looks down again, hides his expression as he confesses, "Elsa, I have only ever known how to pretend to love. As my Mother put it, _for it is easier – neater, than to feel it_. I had squandered my rather perverse existence really, until I met you."

It is when his eyes meet hers she sees that which he dares to hold dear.

_Her._

She doesn't feel like a morbid obsession, or twisted element of some scheme. She feels _adored_.

No.

She feels _loved._

"And now? You no longer pretend?" She's stepped impossibly closer, she can feel his breath ghost across her lips as she looks up at him, "You are in love?"

His shy smile is terribly endearing, the hitch of his breath before he settles on a response makes her want to take his breath away entirely. She can't stop the corners of her mouth from mirroring his.

"A vision of you was planted in my mind one night in Corona, years ago." He says softly, like a shared pleasure and _oh, she remembers that night painfully well_. "One when you dreamt of something divine while ethereally haloed in moonlight, hopelessly enraptured in my arms, and I dared to allow a seed of hope I never thought possible to take root. I still carry that scene with me. That private and perfect vision still remains in my mind regardless of how hard I have tried to forget or replace it. I have become a fool, weakened by this, because I dare to carry you in my heart. I confess that it was in the light of day after this perfect vision, I saw your fear and trepidation, and so I dared not press for more. I knew then you needed time. I told you I would do anything for you, and I meant it. But now, in this moment, I beg of you. Please tell me, if even in its most elementary of forms, that you care for me."

"You must know I do," she whispers, watching with fascination the way he tilts towards her _._

"I'm having an inkling, My Queen. But I want something."

He's very heavy-lidded, focused on her mouth as she catches and releases her lower lip, "Oh?"

"I want you to be honest." He demands softly, gently.

She nods.

"What is it that you want, Elsa?" Hans asks.

So many things, she thinks; but keeps it simple.

"I want you to kiss me."

Hans smile pulls crooked, "You seem to have an uncanny talent for turning events into the most delicious drama."

Elsa narrows her eyes at him, "That is the wrong response, Heroic Prince."

Hans gives an explosive little laugh as he takes her into his arms, "I was just commenting, think of all the talk; all that the courtiers could be wagging their tongues at?"

_Good Lord, Hans…quit talking._

Elsa runs cool fingertips up his sleeves, one hand grasps at a lapel to pull him closer as another winds around his neck and into his hair. Hans' eyes flutter closed as he finally shuts-up, closing the distance between them and kisses her.

At first, it is brief, almost chaste. Elsa finds herself quickly lost in the gentle pressure of his lips on hers and hitch of his breath, the acute awareness of the heat of his body pressed to hers, firm and powerful. Her eyes blow wide as he parts for a heartbeat but then surges forward once more, his lips part and are moving over hers in the most glorious way that triggers a loss of awareness of _everything_ except him and the heat coursing almost violently through her with the slick sounds of their kiss.

* * *

**A/N: The timeline has now caught up to the first chapter, so you know what happens next. If it has been too long, go back and re-read the first sections of the previous chapters, knowing what you know now :) I hope this format wasn't too confusing, I fear it made things a little dull towards the end!**

**The last chapter will be up soon!**


	29. Chapter 29

"You don't have to do this." Elsa says, staring somewhere over Maurice's shoulder, past the heavy velvet draperies to somewhere off in the distance. She's not slept enough to do this, she thinks, just can't focus. Despite the beautiful sunrise that had greeted her, Versailles practically aglow with it, it did nothing to relieve the ache in her chest; her guilt is palpable.

"Changing one's mind," Maurice offers as he and Elsa await the arrival of King Adam and Queen Belle to the private dining room that the breakfast is set at, "may just be an indication of introspection rather than insecurity or uncertainty."

Those were her words after their engagement gala – her words that were shared with Hans watching the French countryside come to life from a cherry orchard just yesterday. "But your parents deserve better." Elsa says, playing devil's advocate. Lack of sleep has her torn. "Better than to have this marriage accord absolved just days after it was celebrated. They are wonderful, loving, and kind. Think of the scandal. We could come to some other arrangement, Maurice. Hans and I don't have to…"

Maurice says, "Father was _BEAST,_ and Mother a peasant girl. _THAT_ was scandalous. And yet they survived, even through revolution."

Elsa remains silent, watching Maurice pace before the windows, hands folded neatly at his back as his eyes shift from her to the oiled portrait of his parents on the far wall. She's struck by a memory of her first meeting with him, how she was so taken with him – easily the most handsome man she'd ever met. Astonishingly similar to his father, she realizes. As much as she cares for Maurice, as handsome as he is, he doesn't inspire an ounce of passion or the reckless stupidity that Hans does.

"It is love you have found," Elsa's eyes flick to his, and he grins, "You and Hans do need to be together properly."

"An arrangement could be made…" she hated that plan, the first one they tried to come to in the dark of night after the party-goers had dispersed. One that involved veiled meetings, hidden relationships and the burden of the truth kept private from the world. But on the surface it was far neater. Hans hated it, too.

Maurice says, "When you find yourself with child, it will obvious."

"Maurice!" Elsa scolds, foolishly surprised by his remark.

He raises an amused eyebrow. "Not a red-head in my family."

Elsa is blushing madly, cheeks aglow with what Maurice is insinuating and remembering far too well how he found her this morning in Hans' arms. She may have taken her intimacy with Hans a little further than she ever expected to last night, but she's wasn't - ready, for _that._

He laughs.

Elsa scowls. Although Elsa suspects he is right. Her eyes dart to the toe of his boot, brow furrowed. For all his lightheartedness, she's struggling with this idea of standing at Maurice's side as he finds the courage (and words) to talk with his parents, sharing the decision to break-off the engagement.

_HIS decision, he insists._

Because he's in love with another.

_So is she –_

_"_ _But that isn't the point of this," Maurice had said. "Not for me. I love Phillipe and I want to include him more in my life than I have, and I want my parents to understand why," he said._

Elsa manages a weak smile.

"They do deserve better. They deserve the truth. About me." Maurice concedes.

"Aren't you terrified of how they will react?" Elsa can empathize with Maurice regarding hiding part of himself, denying part of who he is. After all, she'd hidden her true self for a lifetime before she accidently revealed her magic (in a painful display, no less…).

"I am first and foremost, their son. My parents love me, unconditionally. Of that I am certain. And that makes me brave." He looks so confident, so self-assured as he speaks. Elsa finds herself overwhelmingly proud of the man, truly a _Prince Charming_ , who's willing to shatter the perfect image he's upheld his entire life in order be _free._

"Phillipe would be so proud right now." Elsa says softly. Reassuring him.

"He thinks I am a damn fool." Maurice chuckles, "But yes. I suspect beneath his anxiety and worry regarding this, he is proud. Even if he called me a dithering idiot, then in the next breath professed his love."

Elsa laughs softly at that.

.

.

.

_And Prince Maurice, Duke of Orleans was quite correct. Although King Adam wore an obviously shocked and slightly horrified expression, Queen Belle an encouraging smile with tears in her eyes, Maurice spoke thoughtfully as he shared his secret. When he was finished, he was welcomed into his mother's arms as tears fell, relief from the burden of hiding finally lifted._

_His Father, albeit awkwardly, joined them, "Your Mother had suspected something for years, you know."_

_Belle swatted at her husband playfully, wiping the moisture from her cheeks, "Stop it, Adam." She pressed a soft kiss to the apple of Maurice's cheek, adding quietly, "I didn't really. I just knew you were afraid of something…like you were missing a piece of yourself. Afraid to live." She looked at Elsa, sad smile as she added, "I was right. You two are so good for one another, just not in the way I thought. Thank you, Elsa. For everything. Although I regret that now you won't be my daughter."_

_It was with understanding King Adam declared the marriage accord absolved, without penalty from either Kingdom or further action. Or explanation aside from it was a mutually agreed upon decision made between Queen Elsa and Prince Maurice – supported by both Crowns. Despite this, the termination of the betrothal, France and Arendelle would remain strong allies and looked forward to a prosperous future together._

* * *

Elsa is not terribly surprised to find Hans standing on her gangplank, his own ship across the pier with his banner flying proudly in the warm summer breeze and ready to make-way. She tries for long moments to steady the anticipatory rush of her heart, the blasted catch of breath at the sight of him, and she can't. He smiles, lopsided and bright-eyed at her, so her own smile is genuine as she thinks that she can do absolutely _anything_ , as long as he just keeps looking at her like that.

He says simply as she stops before him, "I'm following you."

Her lips press thin, instantly frustrated with the man. She expected sweet words professing his adoration for her as she departed, not a blatant disregard of everything they had agreed upon. "You are supposed to take Alexandria to England. To your estate. Not follow." Elsa says.

"No – I should be there. With you, at your side."

"It's a brilliant move," she deadpans. She suspected he would unable to resist witnessing her arrival in the Southern Isles, as well as her presentation when she speaks to his Father. This need he has to be with her as she sets things right must be irresistible – he does love a salacious story. However it would be far easier without him, and he agreed. Just last night as he pressed gentle kisses to her collarbone as she ran her fingers through his silken hair, silently commanding him as she does the potential of her magic.

Hans now cocks an eyebrow at her sarcasm.

So Elsa can't resist adding, "You're so needy."

The other eyebrow raises in response.

Elsa crosses her arms, tries to hold tightly to the mask of frustration she's wearing (because honestly she's just overwhelmed with the want to kiss him, right here – right now) as she notices Anna at lingering at the railing. Elsa assumes it is to indiscreetly _eavesdrop,_ given the way Anna is intently studying the brass reflecting the morning sun brightly.

Anna catches her eye, offering a little wave and innocent smile. And goes back to studying the brass railing. Elsa has to remember to focus on the Admiral before her, not the nosey sister to her side distracting her. Because Anna is perfect at what she does – keep Elsa in check.

"Thank you," Hans says when he is certain he has Elsa's attention. "I appreciate the acknowledgement of my brilliance, but I am somewhat offended being described as _needy._ "

He frowns.

Elsa rolls her eyes, suppresses her huff of laughter at the man as she turns to pass him, "Hans…you're going to make this worse."

"I disagree." Hans gives a shake to his head. "My presence with dispel any rumors that I - ."

"Is there any way the two of you could argue later? You both know how this will end." Anna can't seem to help but interject, "Let's just get this show on the road?"

Hans and Elsa both look up at her.

"Or sea. Or however you sailors put it. You know, get on with it?" Anna looks like an irritated mother fussing at children who are lollygagging. The crew of the royal flag ship have been waiting on Elsa for hours now, in all fairness, as it is well past dawn (the time of her scheduled departure).

Anna tries to glare at Hans but can't seem to hold it as she looks to Elsa, "Elsa.  Just accept that the stubborn Admiral is going to follow you, like a petulant tagalong. As much as I hate to admit it, he should be there. He can then and there denounce his rights and privileges as you are threatening he will, and that will carry far more significance than you saying it. And he's far more proficient at scheming than you are, if something unexpected should happen, you can follow his lead. So just roll with it."

Elsa ponders this for a moment, is honestly a bit offended that Anna thinks Hans is better than her at something (foolishly), before deciding that once again Anna is right.

"For the record," Elsa playfully narrows her eyes at Hans, points a frustrated finger at his sternum, "I'm conceding for Anna's sake. Not yours."

He grins and gives a quick wave to Anna, his features alight with excitement, looking so much like a boy in that moment. "Thank you, _Most Important One."_ He's not got enough sense to realize he's been insulted, evidently.

"Elsa," Anna groans, fingers peeling off the rail she was griping, "I have no idea what it is you see in him." Somewhere behind Anna is Kristoff snickering.

"I thought you said I was gorgeous." Hans says, calling out after Anna as she goes out of view. He's feigning offense. "And something complimentary regarding my physique."

Elsa can't help the tinkling of laughter that spills out. There is a euphoria bubbling up inside, an excitement that she can't contain at the thought that Anna loves her, enough to welcome Hans into her life _permanently._ Anna had been immensely supportive and understanding, Kristoff as well. Both willing to help in any way they could to undo the mess that Elsa had made of things. Elsa is honestly overwhelmed by it all – never daring to imagine such a thing.

Elsa blinks, realizing her hand is now in Hans' and being pressed to his lips before she can tear her eyes away from her amazing sister to him. When she does the morning light is playing off his hair; he looks like a dream ( _Anna was right, he is gorgeous, Elsa thinks)_. And all hers. The possessiveness of that thought is incredibly powerful.

"I love you," Elsa whispers.

His boyish grin shifts into something amazed, her quiet profession of affection made in the presence of others makes his gaze tender. "You do realize, I'm not worthy of your love, nor your presence in my life." His smile is soft and self-depreciating.

She can't resist the twist of her lips as she murmurs, "I would beg to differ."

"Forgive me as I learn how this grace thing works." His voice is just as tender, his own expression full of emotion, " _I love you."_

He's like this perfect mirror of everything she's ever dreamt of, but _tangible._

There is a sufficient audience of "busy sailors", both Southern Islander and Arendellian, who no doubt will bear witness to their display at their departure.  Elsa almost hates herself for not caring if the gossip spreads or not.

"I am not sure how I shall endure this trip, seeing you so close yet out of my reach." Elsa sighs.

Hans steps closer to her and she watches the boy merge with the man he is as his eyes darken, voice sultry. "Words such as those will lead me to steal you away to my stateroom for the voyage to the Southern Isles."

Elsa blushes, retrieving her hand and clasping her fingers before her. He makes her reckless – makes her brave. She doesn't respond, but instead turns on the ball of her foot, throwing over her shoulder, "See you at the Lion's Den… _Heroic Prince._ "

Hans laughs gregariously at that.

* * *

"I find it rather insulting that I am only worth three battleships and two frigates." Hans says gazing out at the Arendelle harbor; at said three battleships and two frigates now flying banners displaying Southern Isles livery, not Arendelle.

The marriage is a love-match, absolutely unheard of for a monarch, thus extensively negotiated treaties between the two Kingdoms unnecessary. Or so Hans' Father had said. She was fairly certain he was doing this simply to spite Queen Alessandra, but as it benefited her and Arendelle, Elsa was not compelled to interfere ( _pathetic, horrible family_ …). She was obligated to give something to the King, regardless, as a gift. For Hans. It would be noticed if she had not.

_She had arrived unheralded to the Southern Isles, with Hans as her escort. There was immense chaos at the docks as she disembarked, pages scurrying to the castle ahead of her as she accepted Hans' arm. She proceeded straight to the Throne Room to offer to his Father a union far better than what had been arranged: one to an Icy Sorceress - the Queen of Arendelle._

_"_ _Will he be King?" His father queried, intrigued with Elsa in a manner she was slightly uneasy of. She knew, somehow, that he would allow this – acquiesce. So she stood tall and proud before him, an odd determination as she spoke to him and informed him that she intended to take Hans as her husband, and would make whatever retribution needed to have him._

_(Hans confirmed later that his father was quite taken with her beauty and destructive power – "Males of our species are a horribly simple lot, aren't we?")_

_Elsa had replied to the King, "I don't need a King. I just want Hans – I shall bestow upon him whatever title as Consort I see fit after the marriage. I do not intend to share my power or my throne, if that is what you are asking." Hans's brow creased with thoughtfulness at that, no doubt conflicted over her statement – confession of what she wants (him) and what she needs (nothing) and his station later (again, whatever she wants) likely startling him to hear out loud. But he was ready to be nothing, to be her everything, he had said. From his silence she deduced this to be true._

_His mother remained silent sitting at his father's side, saying nothing with her perfect mask in place. Even as Elsa offered (before the audience of Southern Islander courtiers who had gathered to watch) her forgiveness for the manipulation of everything, the lies and the hatred. Elsa expressed her desire to one day share a loving and kind relationship with Queen Alessandria. Like a mother. Even Elsa could see the forced nature of the Queen's smile and she offered her gracefully false sentiments._

"You were worth Weaselton. But you told me no." Elsa's lips twitch in amusement as she drawls, "So… now I get you, and Weaselton. And your Father gets five ships that like to blow things up."

Hans harrumphs at that.

Elsa is grinning like she's gone mad now that their engagement season has finally ended, wed before God and Arendelle this morning in the castle chapel her coronation took place in. Despite the kind façade that Queen Alessandra wore as she watched Hans exchange vows with Elsa, his hand bound with cloth to hers as the Bishop offered prayers and blessings, the _old bat_ was bitter and angry. And made the past few days terribly awkward for Elsa, having to put on a show for all to see. It was midway through the wedding feast that the Queen finally feigned illness and retired to her guest chambers. Hans privately toasted to that, leading to insufferable giggling from Elsa (blame the champagne).

So now that the season is over, and the honeymoon is about to begin, Elsa's smile contaminates her words.

"By the way, I still haven't decided if you're to remain my Prince Consort," Elsa says lightly, as if remarking upon the mild temperature of the autumn breeze that plays off the fjord as she chooses to ignore the way Hans is pouting over what Arendelle had given the Southern Isles in celebration of their union. "Or become my King Consort."

Elsa is dressed in traditional Arendelle wedding regalia; generations old bunad elaborately embroidered in shades of indigo and dark grey, a heavily jeweled golden wedding crown upon her head. The blasted thing is enormous, gold dripping off every peak of it and making a musical tinkling noise with each step she takes. It took two hours and three hairdressers for the outrageously ornate wedding crown to be woven into her hair and sit properly.

She was going to make her own gown, with snowflake lace and sheer frosted layers of magical fabric (after all, she is the _Snow Queen_ ). Anna insisted that Elsa do this _traditionally –_ just as she had when she was wed to Kristoff. That is, aside from the trolls. And reindeer. And magical talking snowman _._ Elsa had taken Anna's opinion to heart (minus the trolls and reindeer), mostly because Hans had seems wildly intrigued with the idea of Elsa in her Mother's bunad and wedding crown. (It was his comment about getting to _unwrap_ her, layer by layer after the wedding like a gift, which ultimately persuaded her opinion.)

"Ah." Hans replies, staring off into the distance and looking bored. "I don't want it. To be King, that is."

Elsa loves how much pleasure she gets from their banter, from the fact he pushes back and says marvelously unpredictable things to her.

_Ostensible man._

"You're still upset your Father insisted upon refusing the amendment to our last trade agreement to favor the Southern Isles, as I had offered." It's more of an observation, than a question.

"Upset? No." Hans says, finally looking sidelong at her, "Insulted. I am insulted. I am the most decorated Admiral in generations, as well as a Prince of the Southern Isles. I am worth more." He sighs, shoulders slouching in defeat.

Elsa hums her acknowledgement as she comes to stand beside him at the rail of the castle balcony, her wedding crown tinkling with the movement. Hans suddenly beams a childish grin at the thing, green eyes drawn to the headpiece.

As she had walked down the aisle of the chapel to be wed, she was certain he could hear it – although his back was to her as he faced the altar awaiting her appearance at his side, standing at military attention. He first saw her out of the corner of his eye, dropping his chin to get a better look at her as he offered her his hand. Elsa smiled at his wistful sigh as he whispered, " _Wow…"._ She's pretty sure the shy smile she rewarded him with for his lack of eloquence was noticed by everyone in attendance, a perfect blushing bride, but she found that she could care less.

"You may have developed a rather over-inflated sense of important, _My Heroic Prince_." Elsa teases.

He clears his throat as he tries to suppress the twist of his lips, a mask of displeasure slipping into place once more. She's always amazed at how expertly he can do that, shift his expressions to reflect what he wants. He gazes out across the courtyard of guests packed in tightly with his sullen expression, the celebration of their union occurring throughout the Kingdom for the last few days. And will likely last for the next week.

"You are invaluable to me, Hans. You must know that," Elsa smiles, eyes squinting slightly in the dabbled late evening sunlight casting over the castle, sunset painting the sky in beautiful shades of red and dark blue. She hates that she is willing to play into his nonsense right now, her hand caressing his arm without her permission, "I love you."

Elsa adores the awe he still holds in his eyes when she says those little words, a magic and power she has over him that has nothing to do with her ice or snow. She wonders when the surprise will fade, when he will no longer hold such wonder regarding her unconditional love for him (and wonders when her own surprise may fade, as well).

"I love you," Hans says softly as he captures her hand and raises it to his lips to press his kiss to. His eyes flutter closed, then open to pull back to the crowd at the uproar of cheering his display of affection elicits from the people gathered for the celebration. His smile is playful.

"You're encouraging them?"

"Of course." Hans says. "You know, stories have already been circulating regarding us. Some quite fanciful and elicit – bawdry accusations suggesting you are already with child. My child. Let me have some fun."

"Rather juvenile of you." Elsa says, somewhat offended. "Prince Consort it is."

Hans chuckles, impish smile still plastered to his face as he waves to the crowds.

The cheers get louder.

_Simply incorrigible._

"I'll have you know," Hans says mischievously, "I have absolutely no desire at all to be in charge of anything pertaining to Arendelle. Help or meddle in, even interfere, yes. Absolutely. But I will not tell you what to do."

Hans turns to her, brushing a lock of hair back from her forehead before pressing a kiss to her temple. She doesn't stop him despite the audience they have at the moment and given the occasion (she'll just tune out Arendelle's obvious approval). Elsa knows this will only add to the posterity of the blessed event.

"Liar."

"Okay. Perhaps whisper suggestions at inappropriate times, but no way command or exert dominance." He amends, "You remain the Snow Queen extraordinaire. Except when we are alone and in our chambers."

She brings her palms to rest on his biceps, and like a reflex his hands wrap around the bony prominence of her elbows as he holds her close. "And what happens then?" Elsa plays coy and somewhat hates herself for how breathless she sounds as she asks, "When we are alone?"

"Elsa," Hans murmurs, his voice dark, rich, and she watches as his eyes reflect the lust in his voice, "Anything."

Elsa really likes that idea. Perhaps too much. That single night in Paris only served to fan her desire for him to burn hotter (Maurice was terribly right – she can't stay away from him and there have already been too many close calls, her almost taking their passionate moments past the point of no return). Elsa has learned that Hans does like to exert dominance, although deciding Hans is all talk ( _and oh…that clever mouth when it stops talking)_ because he is nothing but gentle and tender, reading her cues so easily about what she wants and how far she is willing to fall into him.

Now she can't stop from wanting him completely. "Do you think anyone would notice if we were to disappear from our own celebration?" Again, she'll blame the champagne.

Hans seems to contemplate his response, raising an eyebrow, "Absolutely. But do you really care if anyone were to notice? In the grand scheme of things? I understand you have an affinity for inspiring the most marvelous gossip. And this would be deliciously scandalous, the newly wed Queen and her husband disappearing to their bedchamber before the ball was over."

He's right, of course. It will take no time whatsoever for them to be missed.

"I care what you think," Elsa says, "And Anna." And it's true.

Hans weaves a gloved hand into hers and offers a gentle tug, encouraging her to fall in step with him towards the wing of the castle that holds her private chambers.

Their private chambers.

"You already know what I think," Hans says with a wink.

Elsa turns to flash a shy smile at the crowds gathered, offers a wave to Arendelle as Hans had. Excited cheers from the masses erupt even louder.

"And Anna is a married woman, in no way unfamiliar with passions of the flesh with now a third child on the way."

_Wait. What?_

Elsa blinks, confused as she walks beside him. "She's not…"

"Talk says otherwise."

"No. She'd have said something to me."

"She's waiting until after the wedding – doesn't want to take away from your moment. Anna said you'd make a fuss over her and your future nephew or niece."

_Oh._

_She's right, of course._

"She's a stinker." Elsa can't help but grin wider at the implication of his gossip. She loves the idea. "Anna will have quite the brood, the rate she and Kristoff are at it."

Her mind snaps back to the moment, the one in which she's presently alone with her husband in a hallway.

_Husband._

Hans is mesmerized by the tinkling wedding crown upon her head, amused quirk of his lips as she falls in step with him.

"But my crown – " Elsa starts to say, just to be cut off by her husband.

_Husband._

"I'm confident I can remove it." He deadpans. His face lights up adorably, "No. Wait. Keep it on."

"No – it is coming off. Why on earth would I leave it on?" Elsa realizes she must appear absolutely befuddled at what Hans is getting at, but decides to not let it bother her.

Hans wags his eyebrows suggestively, seductive grin thrown at her.

"You're lucky I love you because you are more trouble than you're worth."

"Is that so?" His voice holds a husky timber that triggers arousal to burn a blush to her checks.

"Which evidently," Elsa quips, "is three battleships and two frigates."

Elsa grins at the flash of deviousness in Hans' dark eyes. Then squeals. It is with a sudden swift motion he's scooped her into his arms, to carry the rest of the way to the bedchamber.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I accidently lied – there is one more chapter after this. I couldn't wrap up the point of all this in a single chapter (foolish me)!  
> If you are curious about Elsa's wedding clothes, google traditional Norwegian weddings, and you'll find pictures of wedding crowns and the dresses worn!


	30. Chapter 30

**_Sixty years later…_ **

The thrill of discovery is evident, the boy's intonation excited and melodic. "Queen Mother," his small voice calls across the library, "I didn't know you had a fairy tale!"

Faded blue eyes blink open, only to immediately squint in the beams of afternoon sun streaming brightly across her face and slight frame. Elsa had dozed off in the chaise lounge nestled in the corner alcove, a recent habit of hers which she blamed on her advanced age. Elsa's hands and needlepoint lay abandoned in her lap. The sound of her great-grandson's voice startles her slightly, causing frail fingers to curl in surprise around the frame and thread.

"I'm sorry," her lips twist, frowning. "What was that, Christian?"

_Fairy Tale?_

"The Snow Queen?" A flash of red hair stops before her. Christian Hans Adgar Westergård II, the future Crown-Prince of Arendelle, smiles, "Is that really you?"

Elsa's powers had weaken to nothing over the last ten years, the boy remembering nothing of her magic, knowing her only as his great-grandmother.

Her eyes catch the crisp leather binding of the book held in his hands, evidence that few had read the story held to the paper. His eyes were confused. She knew one day someone would find the ridiculous tale after Hans had convinced her not to freeze it and shatter the blasted bit of fiction into a billion tiny pieces after it arrived.

The book was a gift from Hans' horrible mother _(God rest her soul)_ to their first born child – a daughter, Märtha. Anna's darling little Kristoffer, ten years at the time, insisted upon reading it and he _loved_ the story. There were characters named Gerda and Kai _(Like OUR Gerda and Kai! Right here in our castle!)_ , trolls with a magic mirror that Kristoff claimed could very well be real, and even a beautiful Snow Queen who was a truly _Evil Queen (Just like in our games, Aunt Elsa!)._ And the author's name sounded like Hans-Kristoff-Anna-Sven. Said quickly. Which Kristoffer, in a manner only a ten-year-old boy could possibly manage, did repeatedly.

So Elsa couldn't very well destroy the book at that point. It sat hidden on a shelf, in the back of her personal collection of children's fairy tales, collecting dust.

Christian himself had become an avid reader over the last year, a sharp mind so much like her late husband, thirsty for knowledge and quick witted. Elsa spent many afternoons in the library with him, truthfully napping while the boy satisfied his curiosity among the expanse of shelves that held her personal collections.

"Yes, I am the Snow Queen," Elsa says, her voice now weaken at the age of one and ninety. She clears her throat slightly, "Sort of."

The young lad frowns as he studies the first page. "I don't understand."

"Your Great-great-grandmother, Queen Alessandra of the Southern Isles, commissioned the collection of fairy tales to gift to your grandmother at her christening." Elsa smiled at the memory. Her Märtha had been a _beautiful_ baby, a perfect Princess plump and quick to smile with pink cheeks, strawberry-blonde locks akin to Anna. And completely un-magical.

"Later, when Märtha was older, she did not like the story of the Snow Queen. She…" Elsa searches for the right way to phrase it, "….wanted the author to have written the Snow Queen in the story more like me. "

Truthfully Märtha had cried when she was read the story years later, upsetting Hans terribly, leaving him to pen a very nasty letter to the author, making it abundantly clear that he was to accept the request for an audience with Queen Elsa of Arendelle and explain why he had written the Snow Queen in such a manner.

 _(Evidently his portrayal of the Snow Queen was at the request of Queen Alessandra…and he took license to make literary use of the rumors that surrounded Elsa's actions at the time of her coronation to concoct the children' fairy tale.)_ That prompted another letter from Hans to his Queen mother, scolding her for making his _Fair Princess_ cry.

Hans adored his little girl to no end and as fate would have it, she was to be their only child. As Märtha grew he remained as fiercely protective a father as any daughter would know, wanting only the best for her and her future as the sovereign ruler of Arendelle. The finest tutors were brought to the castle for her education, from the far and wide, something that Elsa had wished she had the luxury of as a child.

In addition, Hans had spent years carefully cultivating a relationship with Prince Maurice's nephew, Prince Adam – near Märtha's age, just a year her elder. Many summers were spent visiting the French countryside and Paris, Hans exploring Europe with the young Monarchs, or with Adam a guest in Arendelle with his Uncle Maurice (and friend Phillipe). Elsa and Hans had truthfully adored the idea of a future union between Arendelle and France, uniting friends into family as well as Kingdoms, if that was indeed what the children chose.

Somehow over the years, Hans had naïvely refused to acknowledge to himself that such a betrothal would be the start of his darling little girl becoming a woman…until it happened. So when Prince Adam presented himself formally to ask for what had been set into motion practically at the Crown Princess Märtha's birth, Hans was devastated. And in his furiousness _(at himself, he reflected later, rather embarrassed of his actions),_ Hans challenged the Prince to a duel.

Swords.

Grass before breakfast.

Märtha was livid, ready to kill her father for the absurd display. Rumors spread that there would be an elopement that very night, something about a French Prince being spotted on the ridge of a rooftop near her open window. Thankfully Anna managed to intercede on Elsa's behalf, convincing Märtha not to be so impulsive, simply give her Father some time.

_Elsa had to tease Anna later regarding her ability to be so rational regarding matters of the heart, Märtha so much like an Anna at eighteen years of age in the moment. Anna pointed out proudly that there was no 'Eternal Winter' this time._

_"Why is it called "grass before breakfast"?" Kristoff asked, watching Hans slice blades of the lawn in practice while they awaited the arrival of the French Prince._

_The question had given Hans pause, "I don't know." The two men had become fast friends over the years, quite unexpectedly, thus Kristoff couldn't let Hans 'make a fool of himself' without his support._

The young Prince had shown for the duel, bringing only his physician with him.

Hans was so tickled by that he conceded to cancelling the whole affair and granted permission for Prince Adam to discuss with Märtha the possibility of a future union between Arendelle and France.

_(It was a beautiful wedding, and Hans managed to walk the bride down the aisle without making another fuss over the matter. Although Maurice mocked him relentlessly.)_

Elsa looks at the young boy before her, so much like her Hans must have been as a child _(Hans adored the young man, too)_. Hans' death last winter had been something she truly hadn't recovered from…how she longed to be with him once more.

"So…this isn't your tale?" Christian says slowly to Elsa, flipping through the pages. He stops at the illustrations to study them intently.

"No, not really. " Elsa says kindly, "There are certain elements of it, I suppose, that from a certain point of view may be mine. My actual story is quite personal, and not one meant for a children's book."

There is a flash of deviousness in Christian's expression, "Because you are the Evil Queen and you don't want anyone to know?"

Elsa sometimes wonders if Hans is somehow channeling himself through the poor child. She rolls her eyes.

His grin spreads.

A soft laugh escapes as she concedes, "At one point, perhaps. But as William Shakespeare pointed out; all the world is a stage, and the men and women merely players. We have our entrances, and our exits. And in one's life, a man may play many parts."

"Really?" he says, amazed.

"Someone may have perceived me or my actions as those of someone playing the part of an _Evil Queen,_ or playing the part an _Icy Sorceress,_ or simply the part of a scared young woman too afraid of herself and her magic to be honest with those that loved her. Who allowed fear to be her enemy."

Christian comes beside her, wrapping his small hand over hers, "Are you afraid now? Of how the world may remember you?"

"No. Because those that know me, and love me, know the truth." Elsa smiles. "The truth is simply that I lived. And for me, and my _Heroic Prince,_ it was truly a happily ever after – something not to be reduced simply to a fairy tale."


End file.
